


Piety

by TheRedWulf



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Creepy, Doubt, F/M, Gothic, Loss of Religion, Loss of Virginity, Lust, Masturbation, Religion, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Supernatural - Freeform, Vampires, Victorian, boner angst, deadly sins, sin - Freeform, stansa
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-01-24 03:09:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 41,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21331288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRedWulf/pseuds/TheRedWulf
Summary: AU - Victorian - In which High Septon Baratheon encounters doubt in its purest form...Picsets are viewableHEREandHERE!
Relationships: Stannis Baratheon & Sansa Stark, Stannis Baratheon/Sansa Stark
Comments: 188
Kudos: 168





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tommyginger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tommyginger/gifts).

> I had originally intended this to be a part of 'Spooky Month' (October) but it sort of ran away from me. But, now I am splitting it into a few parts for y'all. Just a warning, this has strong religious/dark undertones, so if that isn't your cup of tea, this might not be for you. 
> 
> Thank you to Tommy for the mindworm-inspiration here. :) <3
> 
> I don't consider myself a writer, like at all, so... This is unbeta'd so I apologize for any errors.  
Thank you for reading!

**King’s Landing - c. 1845**

“In the name of The Seven” he spoke softly, making the sign of the Seven-Pointed Star as he lay his prayer beads across the page and closed his sacred texts. 

Stannis stood and was about to unbutton his collar when frantic knocking came at his chamber door. Crossing quickly, he opened it to find one of the younger clerics, Edric, breathing heavily. 

“Your Eminence” Edric panted. “Come quickly, there is a girl---a woman, she is feral and they believe her to be possessed.”

Stannis clenched his jaw, but moved quickly, grabbing his texts and coat before following the younger man through the halls to where a coach waited. Climbing inside, Edric tapped the roof and the driver spurred the horses onward. 

“How old?” Stannis asked Edric in the darkness of the coach. 

“They are not certain, young but not a child” Edric replied, wiping the sweat from his brow with a plain linen kerchief. 

“And how long has she been like this?” Stannis continued. 

“She was found just hours ago, I cannot be certain how long her condition has been as such” Edric explained. 

Stannis nodded, running his fingers over the gold foil on the front of his sacred texts, the lettering glimmering in the dim moonlight. 

He had been a High Septon, second only to The Seven themselves, for nearly a decade now. At the age of four and forty, he was the youngest man, by far, to hold the title. It was due, in part, to his extreme dedication to duty. Duty was how he lived, how he served the people of King’s Landing and those who followed The Seven. 

He had been born a second son, a forgotten son, to a great house and thanks to his mother’s encouragement, he found his path following The Seven. He refused a political marriage and the wealth he had been born to, venturing to the capitol where he studied both the Old Gods and The New. He found his calling amongst those who followed The Seven and from there the path had unfurled before him. 

Years later, he was still a cold and dour man, but he was the High Septon and his purpose was clear. He was a man with determination and a mission.

Or rather, it had been clear. Of late, there had been an itch beneath his skin. One that he could not quite scratch, no matter how he tried. An itch of restlessness, an urge but for what he did not know. 

Even now as they rode towards a possible possession, he felt uneasy in his own flesh. The feeling growing as they raced down the road. 

Foreboding, perhaps? He reasoned to himself. A gut instinct?

“Ho!” the driver slowed the team in front of an old, abandoned looking house on the edge of flea bottom. Edric hopped out, holding the door while Stannis emerged into the moonlight. Pulling his great coat tighter around himself, he moved up the path. 

“Where are Massey and Aberdolf?” Edric looked around and Stannis felt his stomach drop in fear.

Stannis entered the house and saw a pair of legs--Massey’s legs on the floor at the entrance to the living room. 

“Stay here” he told Edric as he moved inside to see the fireplace blazing, illuminating the entire living area. Aberdolf lay, unmoving on the floor before the fire and as his eyes drank in the room, they landed on the tall, slender form of a woman.

Not just any woman, a beautiful woman. 

She was stunning, he swallowed as he examined her person. Dressed impeccably in a stunning gown of deep black, her fiery hair tamed into an ornate style that bared a slender neck and porcelain skin free of blemishes or scars. 

“Your Eminence” she spoke, her voice smooth and cultured. She turned and fixed him with eyes so blue they looked white at first glance, her lips full and ruby red. In all his years, he had never seen such a beautiful woman, he was paralyzed by her. 

She laughed softly, lifting a gloved hand to wipe at her mouth with a kerchief and he noticed then that her lips were not ruby with rouge, but with blood. 

“No” he muttered, focusing on the details of her person before he looked to Massey’s body and saw that his throat had been torn away but no blood stained the wooden floor. But she could not be, they were just a legend, a story---

“You are a hard man to reach, Your Eminence” she said softly, tossing her stained kerchief into the fire. “I have been trying to tempt you from your cave for weeks.” 

“What” he whispered, pulling his prayer beads from his book and running it through his fingers in a nervous attempt at comforting himself. 

“I said---”

“I heard you” he finally found his voice, forcing his legs to move closer. 

“Careful now” she smirked and met his eyes. “I could be possessed.”

“You are not possessed, at least not by any demon I can expel” he countered. 

“Very good” she ran her tongue over her teeth, the tip of it poking out to graze her lower lip and he felt the itch beneath his skin flare to life. Lust coursed through him and he squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to ward it off. “Pray harder” she taunted and his eyes snapped open in anger. “If you pray harder, Your Eminence, perhaps your cock will stop working altogether.” 

“Such language for a lady!” he spat. 

“I never said I was a lady” she countered. “And you know very well that I am not--at least, not anymore.” 

“You play at being a vampire,” he scoffed. “They are stories, tales from the Old Gods to scare--”

“Stories told to scare little High Septon’s and bring their cocks to life?” she asked, bending down to pick up Aberdolf’s body. She lifted the full grown man as if he were no more than a puppy, grasping his waistcoat to maneuver him. 

“No---”

“No?” she laughed. “What bothers you, High Septon Baratheon” she asked. “That I am about to murder your friend, or that you’re still hard, even as you watch?”

“You vile---” his words choked off as she sank her teeth into Aberdolf’s neck, the man’s eyes shooting open and locking on him as she pulled the life from him with terrifying efficiency. Stannis could do nothing more than watch as she killed Aberdolf and dropped him back at her booted feet. 

“Aberdolf was an opium addict” she chuckled, licking her lips clean. “Curious for a man of the cloth, don’t you think? I thought you were all free of such earthly sins.” 

Stannis watched as she stepped over the body and approached him, his lips moving in prayer as he asked--no, begged for guidance. But, for the first time in his life, his mind was silent in return. They offered him nothing. They had abandoned him in this time of need.

She stopped inches from him, her light blue eyes raking over him as she pulled a small knife from her dress pocket and raised it to her hair. He watched in rapt fascination as she cut a lock of hair free from behind her ear, coiling the fiery length in her palm before tucking her blade away. 

“I suppose it was rude of me to wait so long to introduce myself” she sighed dramatically. “I have been waiting patiently for you to come to me, but you’re a strong one.” 

“Come to you?” 

“The itch” she whispered and he hissed in anger. “Oh, he does feel, after all.” 

“What have you done to me” he demanded. 

“I saw you” she began. “A fortnight ago outside of the Sept on Dunstin Street. You looked quite handsome in your robes, I must admit” she glanced at his great coat and grimaced before she continued. “You didn’t realize it at the time, but we made eye contact, and unfortunately, that is all it takes.” 

“All what takes?” he barked out, clenching his jaw. 

“Oh my dear High Septon” she pulled a bright scarlet kerchief from her pocket and placed the curl in the center, folding the fabric around it. “I cannot give away all my secrets just yet.” 

“I will destroy you, rid the world of your disease---” 

“You won’t” she reached for his hand, her fingers intentionally brushing across his cock where it was still more than half-hard. He hissed and tried to move back but she grabbed his hand quickly, raising it and turning it palm-up to place the kerchief on it. “For you, my darling” she closed his fingers around the kerchief wrapped lock of hair. 

“How dare you---”

“Pray harder, darling” she released his hand and stepped back to grab a black hat with a mourning veil on the front. She pinned it atop her hair but did not lower the veil. “When you’re ready, burn it, and I’ll come.” 

Stannis watched her step forward, “Your name?” he asked, halting her steps as she reached his side. 

“You may call me Lady Sansa Stark,” she said. “Though, that is not _truly_ who I am anymore” she replied and walked out of the house. From his vantage point he watched her walk down the path and nod to a terrified looking Edric before walking back down the street and vanishing into the darkness. 

“Your Eminence” Edric called out as he ran into the house. “Well? Was she possessed? She looked alright to me.” 

“No” Stannis swallowed, his body finally relaxing though the itch had burned through him and would not abate. “She was something far, far worse,” he said, storming from the house and back to the coach. 

“Get me everything you can on Lady Sansa Stark” he demanded as they stormed back into the Sept a short while later. Stannis paused, drawing up short, “Birth _and_ death records.”

“Death records?” Edric’s eyes went wide. “Was she a ghost then?” he asked as Stannis’ long legs carried him forward once more. Edric’s shorter form struggled to keep up with the pace. 

Stannis was determined to keep moving, to keep working. If he did not stop, he could not sink into thoughts that had no business in the High Septon’s head. If he did not stop, he would not remember the curve of her lips or the cut of her jaw. He would not remember the way that her dress hugged a miniscule waist and the way the fire gleamed in her hair. 

No, he pushed his legs faster. Lust did not belong in his mind, in his heart. The lust---the itch, would have to be pushed away with exhaustion. He would banish her from his system, banish this desire---this doubt, and he would renew his dedication to The Seven. He frowned to himself, The Seven who were still silent as his mind screamed for their help.

“No, Edric” Stannis discarded his coat and tossed it across the desk. “She was not a ghost. She was as tangible as you or I.” 

“But, Your Eminence--”

“What exists, but does not live?” he asked, pulling a key from his pocket. “Talks and walks but does not draw breath?” he moved to the locked glass cabinet that stood directly in front of his desk. “What inspires sin and leaves only a path of death?” he unlocked the case and opened the doors wide, his eyes falling on the ancient tome sitting on display. 

“But” Edric whispered. “They do not exist...”

“Oh, my boy” Stannis picked up the book and carried it back to his desk. “But they do.”

Sansa unpinned her hat and removed her gloves, laying them both on the ancient vanity in her bedroom. She sighed, sinking to the bench and looking to her hands for several moments before she turned to look at the Book of The Seven on the table beside her hat. 

It was, she supposed, a final jest at her expense that after all these years, all this time and all the miles of earth she had searched, that she would find him here in the city. The man she had spent centuries searching for was here, the High Septon of The Seven and the only man that she assumed likely to be able to resist her. 

He had for just over two weeks, in fact, resisted her. Resisted the call and it had nearly broken her. 

She had grown desperate and done something terribly risky to get his attention. She thought, perhaps, if the pull did not bring him to her side, that tempting him outright would. She stood bold and strong, using words that would have made her human cheeks flush scarlet and have her hanging her head in shame. No--desperate times called for desperate measures. 

It had paid off, in a way, but now she found herself waiting once more. 

Standing she crossed to the fireplace, stoking the coals back to life and warmth spilled into the room. Though she did not need to be warm to survive, she preferred to chase the chill from her life. Habit, she supposed. Habit was all that had sustained her for some time.

Sinking to the floor before the fire, she closed her eyes and conjured the image of High Septon Stannis Baratheon. Her Stannis Baratheon. 

He was impossibly tall, imposing with a commanding physical presence that seemed to dominate the room. His hair, though receding, was a lovely mixture of silver and black, as was his beard, and he even managed to look handsome with a cleric’s collar where a cravat would be. 

She laughed to herself, opening her eyes to watch the flames as they danced. Of course he would be a Septon, she covered her face with her hands, wishing that this cold, undead body she was trapped in would allow her to cry, just once. 

While her body thrummed with sexual tension, she found that the physical release of crying sounded infinitely better at this moment. 

Leaning to the side, she grabbed her journal from beneath the wingback chair and flipped through it, her eyes finding the entry that she so longed for. 

_I have found him, he is real_ she wrote sixteen days ago, her penmanship hurried and sloppy from excitement. _Today marks three hundred and four years, four months and six days and at last I have found him. And he is glorious._

_I have discovered his name, High Septon Stannis Baratheon, a proud Stag in truth _ she read from the next page. _I have thought of nothing but him since I saw him. All by chance, I have seen him and I can hardly dare to hope that he will soon come to me._

_He has not come _ she flipped the page and read. _I know in my heart that I was not mistaken, he must feel it, he must. It is so powerful, so pure. It must be his duty that holds him back. It must be. _

_Is this death? This pain in my chest where my heart should lay beating, instead throbs in disbelief. He has not come. He is not coming. Now I understand Juliet when she speaks of her ‘happy dagger’, but I cannot succumb. I am trapped in this living hell. Alone. _

_I have decided to be bold,_ she flipped the page once more. _I will be the siren that The Maiden had encouraged me to be once. I will speak with him, I will tempt him and I can only hope that he will call for me._

Sansa closed the book with an angry snap, deciding that she would work on today’s entry later and setting the book aside. For every day of this new life, she had written at least a paragraph in a journal. She wanted to remember everything, every detail and every piece of who she was and who she was becoming. 

At the foot of her bed sat a trunk filled with full journals, all of them her only prized possessions in this world. When she forgot who Sansa Stark was, she could look back and read of her siblings, read of her childhood and the memories would return. Even the painful memories that she longed to forget...

And in another three hundred years, she hoped to look back and remember the first moment she laid eyes on him. Not that she could ever forget. Which vampire would forget the moment they laid eyes on their soulmate?

Laying the book on the carpet, she relaxed against the wingback chair, resting her head on the seat. She could not sleep, cry, eat nor bear children, but she could watch the flames and pray to The Stranger, that Stannis would call for her. 

Stannis sat on the edge of the bed, the darkness of his room perforated only by the moonlight coming in through the large windows. 

He had worked until Edric fell asleep at the desk across from him and only then did he realize that his body was about to collapse itself. He had woken Edric and sent the younger cleric to bed and made his own way to his rooms. 

While he had busied himself with research and readings on vampires and their biology, his mind did not wander far from the beautiful woman he had encountered that night. The itch did not abate, it seemed to grow steadily worse until he felt as if fever would consume him at any moment. 

Here, in the darkness of his chambers, he was once again hard. Cock throbbing in his small clothes as he pictured her beauty in the firelight. He ached to hold her, to sink into her as he had never done before, to imprint his being upon her and mark her as his own. 

Clenching his jaw he paced to the fireplace and sat before it, leaning forward he braced his elbows on his knees and hung his head in his hands, sighing deeply as he tried to control the fire in his blood. 

She had bewitched him, that was all that he could deduce. She had placed some sort of curse or hex upon his person and he was trapped in her sinful daze. 

Pushing his thumbs against his eyes he tried to banish the visual memory of her beauty, of the way her tongue licked across her lower lip, of her---

“Damn” he hissed, pacing across the floor, pausing briefly to adjust his erect cock that seemed determined to plague him. 

He was a man in his forties, grown and matured, but his body was suddenly that of a pubescent boy, hard at the sight of a beautiful woman and begging for attention. 

His brother, Robert, often spoke of his sexual exploits when they were younger, before Stannis dedicated his life to the Church. Robert would proudly declare that he was a man with needs, and Stannis, despite his efforts, never understood the sentiments. 

Now, he paused his pacing to look down at where his cock stood proudly against his small clothes, it seems all too real. 

Closing his eyes he prayed. To each of The Seven, save The Stranger, but he was met with only silence. No guidance, no wisdom. Only silence. 

“Damn” he said once more, tearing at the ties of his small clothes in frustration. His cock sprung free and Stannis hissed, throwing his head back as he wrapped his hand around the thick appendage. He cursed himself, over and over, as he stroked the length from base to tip. 

Pleasure, white hot and volatile, raced through him and he turned toward the fireplacing, leaning against the mantle with his free hand as the other stroked his erection. Slamming his eyes closed and turning away from the large Seven-Pointed Star above the fireplace, he sank into desire. Twisting his wrist in a way that he had not since he was but five and ten, he groaned as he felt the power of his release building in his spine. 

His movements sped and before he could stop himself, he came with a growl, his seed spilling into the still-glowing embers of the fireplace with a hiss that seemed to echo in his ears. He leaned heavily against the mantle and tried to catch his breath, but he seemed to cum forever, his body loosing spend that had been stored for quite some time.

Stumbling back, he sank into the chair before the fire, his small clothes around his shins as he released his hold on his cock. The appendage, however, took its dear sweet time relaxing. Leaning forward on his elbows once more, Stannis covered his face with his hands and fought the urge to weep. 

Why now? After decades of service and dedication to The Seven. Why now, when he needed them most, were they silent. Pushing away resentment he stood, pulling his smallclothes back up with an angry move, tying them and flopping onto the bed. 

He would sleep, that’s all. He needed sleep, he told himself, turning to his side. 

Only, when he rolled over he imagined her staring back at him across the pillow, her vibrant blue eyes and fiery hair gleaming in the light, and he ached anew. 

His descent continued for three days. Madness creeping into his mind and nearly consuming him as he forced himself to work through meals, through the nights, until he was nearly delirious with want of her. 

Stannis cursed, shoving away that showed a birth record for Lady Sansa Stark that was over three hundred years old. There was no record of death, she had simply vanished into the wind. He paced to the fireplace and he felt the worried eyes of Edric following him. 

“Such madness cannot be endured” Stannis hissed. 

Madness. He cursed himself. 

It was Edric who had escorted Stannis to his room on the afternoon of the fourth day, assuring him that he would be ‘right as rain’ after a good night's sleep. Stannis could have laughed at the boy’s praise of his work ethic, ‘so determined to rid the world of evil’ Edric smiled as he helped him to sit on the bed. 

“Edric” Stannis whispered, his voice hoarse with exhaustion. 

“Your Eminence?” Edric paused his work at the fireplace to face him.

“Send the servants away, I wish to be alone tonight” Stannis told him. “Completely alone. I wish to speak with The Seven, uninterrupted.” 

“Of course, Your Eminence” Edric nodded. “If--that is to say, if she is located…”

“That is the only occasion for which you may interrupt” he replied. “Now, please, leave me be.” 

“Goodnight, Your Eminence” Edric bowed and slipped from the room. Stannis stood, his legs uneasy as he walked to the door and locked it behind the cleric, assuring that he would be absolutely alone for what he was about to do. 

He crossed to where his sacred texts sat on the night table and opened them to where he had hidden the red kerchief. He lifted it with a trembling hand and walked to the fireplace. 

_“When you’re ready, burn it, and I’ll come.” _ she had told him and he scoffed, tossing the bundle into the fireplace. He collapsed into the chair and he felt exhaustion take him, his eyes fluttering shut as everything around him faded away. 

Sansa was standing on the cliffs that overlooked the ocean when she smelled it. She turned back to the city with a smile, the scent of burning rosemary and lavender reaching her nose. 

He had called for her, finally, he had called. 

Picking up her skirts she moved with haste back into the city, darting through the streets and alleys until she reached the street below Stannis’ window. Glancing around her to ensure she was alone, she crouched and leapt onto the small balcony, landing with a soft click of her high heeled boots and letting herself inside. 

The room was dim, the fire blazing and she saw his legs in the chair before the fire. Swallowing she stepped closer, her chest aching at the sight of him. He looked as if he had not slept in days, the dark circles under his eyes a violent purple and his hair a disheveled mess. 

“My poor Stannis” she whispered. She moved back, letting him sleep for at least a little bit longer. 

She crossed to the door and unlocked it, grateful that there were no guards at the door. She moved as if she were made of shadows, another gift of this life, and she melted her way to the kitchens, gathering a bit of food and water before making her way back to his room, locking the door behind her. 

She set everything on the table beside his chair and sat across from him, content to watch the fire at his side until he woke. 

Occasionally, she stole glances at him and if she were human, her heart would be racing at the idea that he had called for her. That he was ready to accept her, and their connection. She was loathe to think that it was that very connection that had rendered him to this condition. 

Regardless, she would care for him, help him to regain his strength and bide her time. Time was something that she had plenty of. 

Hours passed, and it was nearing midnight when he stirred, his nose wrinkling before he opened his eyes to look at the fire. She had kept it going, chasing the chill from the room and keeping him contented. She waited, his eyes moving from the fire to the food at his side and then finally to her. He stared at her for several minutes, his eyes looking over every detail of her scarlet red dress and the black veiling across the upper portion of her face. 

“You came” he stated plainly. 

“You called” she replied simply. He turned to the food once more and she stood, “I can help---” she reached for the bread but his hand shot out and trapped her wrist. He stood quickly, far quicker than she expected and he backed her against the wall beside the fire, his free hand wrapping around her throat. 

“What have you done to me” he hissed, his face mere inches from her own. 

“Stannis--” she pleaded. While she didn’t need air to live, she did need it to speak and he was hindering her airflow. 

“You have cursed me” his voice broke, but he held her still. “You have broken me. Stolen me from my Gods. My Faith.” 

“Stannis, no” she saw now the war that was waging within his body. The torment and pain that consumed him. It was not exhaustion, it was pain and sadness. “Oh my dearest---”

“What did you do to me?!” he demanded, his fingers tightening around her throat and she let him, knowing that he couldn’t hurt her. Hells, he couldn’t even bruise her if he tried. “You...vile temptress” he choked out, his body growing weaker until his forehead was pressed to her cheek. 

She wrapped her arms around him, her hands smoothing across his waistcoat and shirt and she heard the sob escape his throat, “Shhh” she forced out as best she could, trying to soothe him. His pain pulled at her heart and she wished, more than ever, that she could cry. 

“My Gods have forsaken me, I live in torment” he whispered. “Because of you---” 

“No” she held to him as his body collapsed, both of them sinking to the floor. Stannis ended up across her lap, cradled in her arms and laying on the billowing fabric of her skirts. “Ssh,” she soothed, guiding his chin to look up at her. 

“I ache for you in ways that I cannot describe” he whispered, watching her with shadowed blue eyes. “I have set aside my duty, I have indulged in the sins of the flesh and yet, I ache for you. What manner of curse is this?” 

“My Stannis” she held him tightly to her breast, rocking him gently. “I did not curse you, I would never do anything to harm you. I could never” she said softly. “Look at me” she guided his chin and their eyes met once more. “Each vampire is given three hundred years to come into their own” she began. “Three hundred years of sowing oats or traveling the world, before they are assigned to a city. Before they are given their purpose. Once in their city, their travel is limited, their purpose clear.” 

“Purpose” he repeated, his brow furrowing. 

She nodded, “Who better to guard the cities than beings who need not sleep?” she smiled. “We are guardians, my darling, we protect the world of man from those who would harm it. True demons---” 

“You are a demon” he interrupted. 

“I am not” she countered. “I am a being of immortality, of death and power, yes. But I am not a demon, my darling. Your books, what did they tell you?”

“They did not tell me how to save you….how to kill you” he said admitted quietly.

“And they will not, because you cannot” she replied. “The Stranger created us, guides us and he gives us our assignment. We are his servants, but our existence comes at a cost.” 

“The cost is murder” he said. 

“It is” she nodded. “Did you wonder why I chose Massey and Aberdolf to lure into my trap?” she asked and he was silent. “Aberdolf was a thieving opium addict and Massey, he preyed on young girls, he was not a good man. Neither man were pure of soul or heart. They were criminals, Stannis, and I choose to only prey upon those who seek to harm others” she explained and he was silent for several minutes before he spoke. 

“Where is the temptress from Flea Bottom” he asked. “The woman who taunted me with sin and lust.” 

“I had to get your attention somehow” she smiled. “That woman is me. I ache for you, Stannis, I have from the moment our eyes met. But it is not mere lust that I seek with you. Vampire souls are made in pairs; balanced, just as all things in the universe should be. I was born Lady Sansa Stark just over three hundred years ago, my time of service has only just begun, but I have found you---”

“Found me?” he struggled to sit up and she helped him, both of them watching the other warily as they sat beside the fireplace. 

“My other half” she reached out to cup his cheek and he grabbed her wrist once more, this time making no move to push it from his face. 

“You said pairs” his brain finally caught up. 

“I did.” 

“What does that mean?” he asked. “I am a human---”

“For now” she said. 

“No” he moved away from her, standing and pacing before the fire. She watched him, not moving from her position on the floor. She could sense that he needed to feel in control, needed to feel powerful and he could only do that if she remained sitting. 

“Stannis” she asked. “When you prayed, did you pray to The Stranger?”

He paused in his pacing, looking down at her, “No.” 

“Perhaps, the reason that your Gods have gone silent is that you haven’t spoken to the correct one.” 

“And I am supposed to what? Believe you?” he asked. “You come to me, laced with lust and beauty, and now you speak of guardians and souls!” When she did not speak he continued. “I will never become like you, a soulless creature that feeds on the living. It cannot be borne. I have dedicated my life to The Seven and I would never---”

“The Six” she corrected as she pushed to her feet, smoothing her skirts and pulling the blade free from her pocket. She cut another length of hair and coiled it before placing it on the mantle. 

“How dare you!” he glared at her but she merely shook her head.

“I will bear no more of your cutting words. When you are ready, Stannis, just call” she said softly--sadly, stepping back when he reached for her wrist. 

“Don’t you dare leave me!” he demanded but she forced her feet to move, melting into the shadows and escaping from his balcony. She walked away from his rooms, leaving him behind to his doubts and cold words. 

Pulling the veil over the rest of her face, she walked down the cobblestone streets and made her way to her estate on the edge of the city. For the first time in centuries, she was more than ready to be alone.

Stannis pushed the table over in his fury, the water, bread and cheese scattering across the floor. In anger, he bent down and picked up the apple she had brought him and threw it against the wall, the fruit exploding upon impact. He turned away, leaning against the mantle and praying for strength. 

“She’s right you know” a deep brogue sounded behind him and Stannis whirled to face the man now seated in the wingback chair behind him. “Most of my charges are a fair bit of work. Wild, impulsive and whatnot, but you,” he chuckled. “Gods, you’re infuriating.” 

“Who are you, sir, who dares encroach---” 

“Save it” the man stood, unfolding his great height from the chair and meeting his eyes, dead on. 

It was when their eyes met that Stannis saw that the entire left side of the man’s face was pulled and puckered into angry burn scars. Scars that ventured into his hairline and to his beard. Clad in all black, with shaggy, unkempt hair and a thick beard, this man looked like he would be more at home on the battlefield than any other place. 

“Who--”

“In the texts they talk about The Stranger’s fall from ‘grace’,” the man chuckled, moving to Stannis’ side. “But they don’t talk about what happened when he landed” he motioned to his face. “The Seven Hells are not all they’re cracked up to be.”

“I have had my fill of madness today” Stannis turned to the door only to freeze as the man materialized before him, blocking his path. “How…”

“For a man so dedicated in his Faith, you’re filled with doubt” the dark man chuckled, crossing to the decanter of wine that always sat, untouched, on the sideboard. 

“You mean to tell me” Stannis watched him, his mind and heart both racing. 

“The Stranger is real” the man sipped his wine, widening his eyes in mock surprise. “I was enjoying myself with these two lovely whores---” he said and Stannis choked. “Oh right, I forgot you’re a prude” the dark man paced back to the chair and sat. “As I was saying, she is right, you know.” 

“A prude!?” Stannis choked.

“You seem determined to focus on everything except the matter at hand” the dark man--The Stranger said. 

“The matter at hand” Stannis scoffed. “Alright, the matter at hand is that woman---” 

“Sansa” The Stranger interjected. “Do not belittle her by not using her name,” he warned. 

“Sansa--_Lady_ Sansa,” Stannis said softly, looking back to the fire as he pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“She is a good woman” The Stranger said. “She would never tell it, but her story is one of great sadness. She was the daughter of the King and Queen in the North, many years ago. She was beautiful, vibrant and most sought after bride in the realm” he sipped his wine. “But her mother was mad, proper mad. And when suitor after suitor called, the Queen saw her own beauty fading and she seethed with jealousy. When she finally snapped, she followed Sansa to the Sept at their home and when Sansa knelt to pray, her mother drove a Valyrian dagger through her heart.” 

“What?” Stannis froze. 

“Sansa lay dying in the snow when The Maiden begged me to save her” The Stranger drank deeply from his wine. “I could not restore her life, her heart had been pierced and she was too weak. So, I did what I could...” 

“You made her a vampire” Stannis sank into the chair opposite The Stranger. 

“I did” he frowned. “Much to my own sadness.” 

“Sadness?” 

“If she had passed into the Elysian Fields, I could have taken her for my own” The Stranger said. “But instead I gave her the life of a guardian, and then, I gave her you.” 

“Gods” Stannis cursed and The Stranger chuckled, standing to refill his wine. 

“I tried to guide you, in your life,” he continued as he returned to his chair. “To help you remain worthy of her---”

“Worthy” Stannis ground his teeth. “You mean a man averse to physical--”

“To fucking, aye” The Stranger said. “She deserves better than a man steeped in filth.” 

“Says the man who left two whores---”

“I said she deserves better, Baratheon, you’d do well not to piss me off” The Stranger snapped, the candles flickering and the walls seeming to shake with his fury. 

“Of course” Stannis nodded, bowing his head in supplication. 

The Stranger scoffed, shaking his head, “Stubborn man. Your father was the same way.” 

“What?” Stannis raised his head, eyes wide with shock. 

“You brothers not so much, but your father was a force to be reckoned with, especially when it came to your mother,” he continued. “He loved her something fierce. You’re just as stubborn as he was.” 

“I hardly remember him” Stannis rubbed his brow. “I remember my mother being very devout.” 

“Devout” Sandor nodded. “Aye, she was. We all tried to guide you, but you’re so damned stubborn.”

“I am the High Septon--”

“Were” The Stranger reasoned. 

“What?” 

“You were” The Stranger said. “But that is not your destiny.” 

“And what is my destiny, pray tell” Stannis glared. 

“Sansa” The Stranger said. “She always has been, Baratheon. Your soul, your very being was created from hers. Two halves of the same creation, together they’re unstoppable.” 

“I find this all very hard to believe” Stannis shook his head. “Forty years of dedication to a single path and now---”

“You would still be a servant of The Seven, Stannis” The Stranger drained his wine glass once more and set the goblet aside. “No one is asking you to give up your Faith. I only ask that you serve me, that you help Sansa to protect this city in the times to come. That you love her and protect _her_ with all that you are.” 

“Because you love her?” Stannis asked bluntly. 

“Because she loves _you_” The Stranger’s eyes grew cold. “And if you opened your damned mind and allowed that heart of yours to thaw, you would find that you love her as well. There are many ways to worship the Gods, Stannis, and doing so at the altar of a beautiful woman is more pleasurable than most” he stood and fixed Stannis with a glare. “Or” his lips twitched in a smirk. “You can jerk off into a fireplace for the rest of your life.” 

Stannis felt his cheeks heat in the same moment that The Stranger vanished. The large man was suddenly gone and a chill filled the room, sending a shiver across Stannis’ flesh. 

He looked to where the fiery curl lay on the mantle and he stepped back. No, he shook the cobwebs from his head. He had a few things that he needed to take care of before he called for her. 

But he would be calling for her….


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all SO much for your love of this story so far! I am so glad that you all love and I am so glad to count you fantastic people as my readers. I just...love you all. 
> 
> Picset is viewable [HERE](https://the-red-wulf.tumblr.com/post/188852222896/piety-au-victorian-in-which-high-septon/)

_ “Where am I?” Sansa asked, looking around her to see only the black void of space._

_ “You’re not really anywhere, though that is a more philosophical debate for another time” a deep voice replied and she looked to see a large, scarred man emerge from the void. _

_ “Hello” she smiled brightly, glancing over his black armor and the shaggy length of his hair. “I’m Sansa” she extended her hand._

_ “I know, Little Bird” he said softly, taking her hand in his own. She frowned a bit when he covered her hand with his second hand, holding it as his expression melted into a frown. “What do you remember?” he asked._

_ “Remember?” she repeated in the same instant that pain seared through her mind, her eyes closing tightly as she fought against memories of unspeakable pain. She stumbled and would have collapsed to her knees if the man hadn’t taken her into his arms. She sobbed at the memory—at the realization that her own mother had murdered her._

_ “Shh, Little Bird” the deep brogue soothed her, a large hand rubbing across her back. “I know that it hurts, I suspect it will always hurt, but there is so much more in store for you.”_

_ “Me?” she asked, wiping her nose on her sleeve and looking up at the large man. _

_ “Aye, Little One” he said, wiping a tear from her cheek. “So much more.” _

“Your Eminence” Edric watched with wide eyes as Stannis bustled about his room, furiously packing trunks and tossing scrolls into the fireplace. “Are you...unwell?”

“No” Stannis paused in his work to face the younger cleric. “I need you to bring me The Book of the Stranger—”

“What?” Edric gasped. 

“The. Book. Of. The. Stranger” Stannis repeated slowly. “I need it. Now.” 

“But that book hasn’t been touched in—”

“Exactly, bring it to my offices, I will meet you there in no less than a quarter of an hour” Stannis said, turning back to his trunks. 

He tucked several articles of clothing inside before pausing to stare up at the Star of the Seven that hung above the fireplace. Meticulously he counted each point of the star, lingering on The Stranger. 

The God, while gruff and crude, had made several good points and thrown Stannis well-ordered world into chaos. He hadn’t slept, instead he had started to sort through his life, his path and the decisions that had brought him to this moment. 

To Sansa. 

First, he thought back to the devout nature of his mother, Lady Cassana Baratheon, and the way that she openly encouraged him to learn all that he could about The Old Gods and The New. She had lived a pious life, had been a caring, loving mother until she succumbed to the riptides and cold waters of Shipbreaker’s Bay. 

In his youth, he had been closer with his mother than he had been with his father. Partially because he was, obviously, not the eldest son and heir. But it was also due to the fact that Stannis had always held himself aloof, ensuring that the raucous habits of Robert, Renly and the majority of men in his social circles, did not poison his mind. 

A prude, The Stranger had called him, and while it was not untrue, the words struck him deeply. 

He did not, in his heart, feel like a prude. He did not feel asexual or somehow deficient, he simply had never dwelled on thoughts of a carnal nature until he had encountered her. The moment he laid eyes upon Sansa, intentionally or otherwise, the itch of lust had begun to grow and fester under his skin. Thoughts—desires long since dormant, raged to life and consumed him. 

This, he had been told, was intentional. A way to ensure that Sansa received a man--a mate, that was worthy of her. Stannis sank into the chair beside the fire, clenching his jaw and pinching the bridge of his nose. 

He was hardly worthy of anything except Bedlam at this moment. 

Unbidden, his eyes moved to the fiery curl atop the mantle, the one waiting, mocking him in a way that made his chest twist. He had treated her terribly and he knew, deep down, that he needed to beg her forgiveness. She had looked so broken, so alone when she had turned away, the sight of it would forever haunt him. 

Forcing himself to stand, he grabbed his coat from the edge of the bed and pulled it on as his long legs carried him through the doorway and into the hall.

He walked the familiar path, eating up the distance quickly, and when he stormed into his office it was to find Edric waiting, the young man pale and uneasy as he set the leather-wrapped book upon the table. 

“Your Eminence” Edric cleared his throat. “I should warn you—tell you, Most Devout Sister Targaryen, she saw me removing the book from the library, sir.” 

“Did she?” Stannis frowned, knowing that any moment now, the woman herself would storm through the door and demand answers. “Then we must work quickly.” 

“Work, Your Eminence?”

“Indeed” Stannis intied the leather wrapping and parted the material, the black leather giving way to a book made of solid gold, its cover gleaming in the candlelight. “I never imagined” he said softly, running his fingers over the star embossed on the cover. 

“It is…gold?” Edric frowned. 

“Yes?” 

“I had imagined, respectfully of course,” Edric assured him. “That the book would have been made of...well—human flesh.” 

Stannis nodded, “I have learned, and quite recently Edric, that I have long held many misconceptions of this world and the realms beyond.” 

“You mean about The Stranger?” Edric asked. 

“And his acolytes” Stannis opened the golden cover to scan the first parchment page, tracing his index finger over the illuminated lettering. “Edric?”

“Yes, Your Eminence?” 

“The woman,” Stannis began. “In the house. When you encountered her, did she say anything to you?”

“No” Edric shook his head. “She was kind, I suppose. She told Massey and Aberdolf to stay, and sent me for you. She told me not to return to the house. She--” 

Stannis nodded, grinding his teeth, “She is a vampire, Edric. But such a distinction is something that I fear I did not understand until recently.” 

“You mean the Guardians?” Edric asked and Stannis froze. 

“What?” 

“In the book” Edric explained. “The Sacred book, the original translations leave something to be desired” his cheeks flushed a bit, tripping over the words. “I have something of an affinity for languages, Your Eminence, and I thought that there might have been a bit of intentional ambiguity.”

“You’re a good man, Edric” Stannis looked him over. “Truly.”

“Your Eminence?” 

“Now come and help me.”

Edric watched the High Septon as he worked, moving back and forth between The Book of The Stranger and the sacred texts that covered his desk. 

He had, in all his years of serving the High Septon, never seen him so dedicated. So determined. It was as if the High Septon had previously been in a fog, sleepwalking through the motions until now. Now he was awake, vibrant and alive. It was strange to see. 

Before he had met the High Septon, Edric had been a bastard born boy, lost and wandering the streets. He would sleep in alleys and doorways, working any odd job he could in order to have enough coin to eat. He had to survive, and he worked hard to ensure that. 

It wasn’t until he met a man, tall, charming and golden, that Edric made his way to the Septon. The man saved his life, during a harsh winter storm, there was no doubt of that. He had taken him into his fine house, helping him chase the chill away with a warm meal, warm bath and fresh clothes. 

Edric sat warily beside the fire with the man, having never touched a chair so fine, let alone sat in it. He thought perhaps that he had died in the snow and frozen winds, that his body was coated in ice outside and this was the afterlife. Surely a warm meal, new clothes and a kind nobleman were not to be given to a beggar...

The man told him of The Seven, told him of His faith and devotion. Edric listened intently, drinking in every detail of this man’s great life, and when at last, the man asked him for a favor. He could not refuse. 

His life had changed that day. He went from a street rat to the assistant to the High Septon, from beggar to Cleric. He did his duty, fulfilled his promise to the charming man, and he did it well. 

The only problem he had encountered was the Most Devout Sister and her need to monitor and control all around her. 

She was a cold woman, violet eyes vacant and lips tilted in arrogant pride. She had come to the Faith shortly after Edric began serving the High Septon and she had made no secret of her dislike for bastards. Even if her Faith told her to love all, she clearly did not trust Edric and by extension, the High Septon. 

She had even, on more than one occasion, intimated that Edric was the High Septon’s by blow, hence how he so easily was awarded the Cleric’s position. 

Edric did all he could not to laugh in her face. 

If she only knew. 

She had watched as he signed the paperwork and lifted The Book of The Stranger, carrying the wrapped parcel out of the Hall of Tomes. Her eyes were sharper than any blade, distrust oozing from her pores. 

She was trouble, that much was clear. She wanted the title of High Septon—-she lusted for it, and Edric wasn’t sure how they could stop her. 

Though, judging by the High Septon’s behavior and the trunks he was packing in his chambers, things were about to drastically change. 

Good. It was about time.

“Your Eminence, I demand an audience” the clipped, cold voice of Most Devout Sister Daenerys Targaryen cut into Stannis’ evening meal. She shoved the door to his private room open so swiftly, it crashed against the wall behind it, the sound echoing through the room. 

“Sister Targaryen” Stannis stood, setting his napkin aside to watch her approach. 

“I hear you are considering leaving us” she paused, running her fingers over the back of a velvet chair. 

“Am I?” he replied, watching her feigned innocence with a careful gaze. She had always had aspirations, above her station or otherwise, and he had been careful to keep his guard up around her. She was a beautiful woman, but her violet eyes were vacant and cold, her heart frozen and filled only with ‘pious’ thoughts of herself. If she believed him to be leaving, then she had either been to his chambers or paid well for the information. Curious..

“You had Brother Edric steal the book of The Stranger,” she said, meeting his gaze. “Why?” 

“I had questions” he said simply. “And he did not steal it, Sister. It has already been returned to its location.”

“Questions?” 

“Questions.” 

She sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes, “Questions of what, Your Eminence?” 

“Of everything, Sister” he replied. “As High Septon, should I not have access to all information pertaining to our Faith?” 

She gave a small shrug, “The Stranger is not a member of The Seven that is generally studied.” 

“Why?” he asked her, raising a brow. “The Stranger is one of The Seven, is He not?” 

“Your Eminence” she watched him with narrowed eyes. “He?” 

“He” Stannis countered. 

“Have you…” she looked to the flames in the fireplace, her eyes glittering for several moments before she turned back to him and spoke. “Have you seen him?” 

“I have” Stannis stated plainly. “And I have questions—had questions that I needed answered immediately.” 

“He visited you?” she asked warily. 

“Sister—” 

“I saw him in a dream once” she admitted, turning to look back at the fireplace. “His face was a ruin, torn apart by fire and flame.” 

“Ruin” Stannis repeated quietly, though that was not the word that he would have used to describe the man. 

“The Stranger is a not a God of pure motive or intention” she said suddenly. “If you seek to follow him, then I believe the other Most Devout should be made aware of this.” 

“The Stranger is one of The Seven, Sister” he replied, doing his best to rein in his emotions. The last twenty-four hours had been overwhelming. “He is, while I admit, an intimidating figure, He is no less—”

“He is Death, Your Eminence” she interrupted him. 

“Death is a vital part of life, Sister. I would even argue that without death, there is no point to life at all” he countered, watching her admire the flames. “You have an affinity for the fire—”

“No” she said abruptly, shaking her head as if to free the cobwebs and looking over to him. 

He chose not to address her lie, but instead moved back to his chair, “If that is all, Sister?”

“That is all. For now,” she warned, turning on her heel and storming from the room. Stannis sighed, shaking his head when she didn’t even bother with closing the door behind herself. 

Seconds passed, then Edric’s head popped out from the opposite door, “She gone?” 

Stannis nodded, suppressing his chuckle, “She is indeed.” 

“She’s….scary.” 

“She’s not wrong.” 

“What?” Edric asked, then paused. “I mean—”

“I am leaving” Stannis looked to the younger man. “Not the Faith entirely, but I can no longer be the High Septon.” 

“Your Eminence…”

“The Stranger has given me a gift, one that I will not refuse” Stannis explained. “I would recommend that you be promoted—”

“With all respect, sir,” Edric cleared his throat. “If you leave, I should like to go with you. To remain in your service.” 

Stannis frowned, “Edric—” 

“The moment you’re gone, Most Devout Sister Targaryen will have me removed, Your Eminence” Edric moved closer to the table, shaking his head. “She believes that I am your bastard, and she will have me removed.” 

Stannis frowned deeply, having heard this accusation for the first time and he wasn’t sure how to take such an insult. He supposed with their dark hair and light eyes, the features were similar enough, but Stannis was not a man for fathering bastards, faith or not. 

“I suppose then” Stannis motioned to the chair across from him before motioning for another plate of food to be brought. “We should talk. There is much to discuss.”

“Your Eminence” Edric moved to the chair, sitting at the large gilded table, the two facing each other as equals of sorts. 

“Where do I begin…” 

Sansa did her best to stay busy as the days and nights passed, standing vigil along the Sept’s towers, she watched the world below, doing her best to focus on the task at hand. She watched the caravan and ensured that it made it safely to the orphanage before she turned away and began the descent to the streets below. 

The Stranger had spoken to her, the night that she walked away from Stannis’ rooms, and he had assured her that he gave Stannis a damned good proverbial kick in the head. Sansa could only smile at the visual it created. 

He, The Stranger had always been kind to her. From the moment that she had awakened to this life, he was there to guide her and she had always been grateful for his presence. It was why she always dressed in red or black, his chosen colors, as a small way to pay tribute and thanks to him. 

She was all too aware of the circumstances surrounding her mortal body’s death. Sometimes when she closed her eyes, she could see the madness in her Mother’s eyes, eyes so like her own, as she drove the blade between her ribs and into her heart. 

She had never felt pain like that, the heat of it lancing through her soul as she lay dying in the snow. She had seen the crying blonde woman, The Maiden, and then The Stranger had been there, lifting her into his arms and carrying her away, his stormy grey eyes filled with sadness as darkness consumed. 

He had held her in those first moments of this life, soothing her in his own way as she suffered the pain of betrayal and murder. 

Sansa woke to her new life and spent her first few hundred years reading all that she could. Traveling the world and observing mankind, observing the children. She learned their habits, their behavior and she learned to anticipate their movements by assessing their motives. She learned them well but she had been side-swiped the moment that she laid eyes on High Septon Stannis Baratheon. 

She shook her head as she turned down the lane to her estate, her gloved fingers raising to absently touch the veil across her face. She once again found herself wishing that she could cry. 

She walked up her front steps and paused when she saw that the fireplace in the library was blazing and the entire room was illuminated. Turning her face to the breeze, she took a deep breath and the familiar leather and lemon scent of Stannis reached her nose. 

A second scent, the young man from the house that first night, reached her. He had been here was well, though he was not here now. That young man, she smirked to herself. Stannis had no idea who had been under his care all this time. She wondered, idly, if even the young man knew how special he was.

Bracing herself and focusing on the task at hand, she turned the knob and let herself inside. Closing the door firmly behind her, she removed her hat and set it on the entry table before she turned to see several trunks piled in the foyer, all of them in house Baratheon colors. 

She slowly walked into the library to find Stannis standing beside the fire. He was dressed in all black, his clothing befitting a man of noble birth and not a High Septon. 

She stood warily by the bookcases as he raised his eyes to watch her. 

“Lady Sansa Stark” he said softly, turning to face her. “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Stannis Baratheon, second son of the house Baratheon and once heir to Dragonstone” he began. 

“My Lord” she nodded her head slightly, humoring him. 

“I have come to you today to confess” he said softly. 

“Confess?” 

“I would purge my heart of the sins that I have committed against you, while I endeavor to be a man worthy of you” he spoke with firm confidence. 

“Stannis” she stepped forward but he raised a hand to stop her. 

“I have cursed you, cursed your name” he began, holding his hands out in supplication. “I have lusted for you and as such, I have broken my vows as High Septon and betrayed The Seven. I have spewed angry insults at your name and I have---” he swallowed, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “I have taken carnal pleasure at your image--your memory, in my mind,” he sank to his knees and clasped his hands in front of his chest. “I have been a coward, I know this now. I have run from what I feel and turned my back on The Stranger, one of The Seven.”

“Stannis” she moved closer, unpinning her hat and setting it aside. “Please, stand--” 

“No, I will not” he shook his head. “This is my confession to you, Lady Sansa Stark, and now I beg of you, please tell me how I can pay penance for such grave slights. Tell me what I can do so that I can make amends and earn your forgiveness.” 

Sansa watched him for several moments, her mind replaying his words and what he asked of her. He had cast aside his mantle of High Septon and chosen to return to who he was born to be, had chosen to come to her side. 

She took a shaky breath and steeled her spine as she approached, “You are a hard man to reach, Lord Baratheon. I have been trying to tempt you from your cave for moons now” she echoed their first conversation, smirking as his eyes darted to hers. 

“I know now that you are not possessed” he whispered. “I have learned much, so much, and I find that I am more resolute in my Faith than ever.”

“Good” she stood over him now, his great height meaning that even kneeling he was eye level with her chest. She slowly removed her gloves, letting the leather fall away so that she could cup his cheeks, smoothing her thumbs over his beard. “Do you still believe me a story?” 

“No” he whispered. “You have brought me to life, all of me. You burn beneath my skin, like wildfire in my veins, Sansa and I cannot---no, I do not wish to escape.” 

“I have waited a long time for you, Stannis of House Baratheon” she said with a small smile. “A very long time.” 

“I am sorry to have kept you waiting, my lady” he promised, looking up at her. 

“Stand up,” she repeated softly and he pushed to his feet, looking down into her eyes with such affection that her chest ached. She watched as he raised a hesitant hand, pausing for a brief moment, as if he were unsure of himself, before he cupped her cheek. As his palm met her skin, she heard his soft sigh and watched the tension in his shoulders ease.

While he was not versed in physical affection, he was a man desperate for it.

“I am not an easy man” he said quietly, his tone laced with reverence. “I am not a handsome man, Sansa. I am not even a young man, but I am a man. I cannot promise that I will not make mistakes, that I will not be stubborn and cold. I cannot promise that I will never upset you, as I most assuredly will at some point. But if you can find it in your heart to forgive me, I can promise that I will never hurt you” his thumb trailed across her cheekbone in a feather light touch. “I can promise that I will protect you, that I will hold you above all others and I will never--ever forsake you.” 

“There is nothing to forgive” she said, raising her hands to rest them over his black waistcoat, the racing beat of his heart echoing against her palm. “But if there was, you had my forgiveness the moment it happened.” 

“I do not deserve you” he said softly, stroking her cheek. 

“Stannis, in this life there is no ‘deserving’ and ‘undeserving’,” she said quietly. “Those who deserve are never guaranteed what they deserve, and sometimes, sometimes their life is cut short by those who believe they are more worthy.” 

One of his hands lifted to rest over her heart, “I cannot imagine what you have endured.”

“I would do it all again, every time, just to be here with you now,” she said softly. 

“I am surely not worth such devotion” he said quietly and she felt her heart ache for this man. So strong, but so lonely. 

“I believe that you are” she assured him. “You are a part of me, Stannis. Just as I am a part of you. Inevitable.” 

“I would take up the mantle of Guardian, at your side” he asked. “But first, I would be your husband. Lawfully wedded.” 

“Are you asking?” she felt her eyes burn though no tears would ever fall. 

He gave a curt nod, “I am, Lady Sansa Stark. I would ask that you marry me, as I would never dishonor you by asking you to pass life at my side without the sacred bonds of marriage.” 

“I will marry you, Stannis” she smiled, happiness consuming her, taking hold of her. “I will be yours, as you will be mine.”

He breathed a sigh of relief and she almost giggled, how could he have thought that she would refuse him? 

“May I” he paused, his jaw clenching. She smiled and covered his hand over her heart with her own, the warmth of his skin sinking into hers. She gave his fingers a gentle squeeze, silently encouraging him and she felt his body relax, if slightly. “That is, I should very much like to kiss you, Sansa.” 

“And I should like to kiss you, Stannis” she stepped closer, her skirts tangling with his trousers. In response, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, his hand tunneling into her hair. She turned her face to his and he moved closer, pausing when their lips were a hair’s breadth apart. 

“_Hear my soul speak: the very instant that I saw you, did my heart fly to your service_*” he said quietly, closing the distance between them.

It was soft, clumsy, their lips barely touching at first, but at that first meeting of flesh, his arm around her tightened and the other joined it, clasped at her waist. Sansa held to his waistcoat, tilting her head to meet his mouth better. She felt the heat of his touch, the soft tickle of his breath against her cheek and was drowning in the rich scent of him. 

Stannis had permeated her every sense, had possessed her with his tentative kiss and desperate embrace. She parted her lips, allowing his tongue into her mouth and he answered her, his growl rumbling through her, making her heart warm. 

She felt overwhelmed, having seen but never experienced such passion. Such love. When her legs felt weak, she held to his strength, sighing and melting into him. 

Three hundred and four years, five months and two days, and finally she was in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *”Hear my soul speak:  
The very instant that I saw you, did  
My heart fly to your service.”  
is borrowed from _The Tempest_


	3. Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have added another picset, viewable [HERE](https://the-red-wulf.tumblr.com/post/189158539606/piety-au-victorian-in-which-high-septon/)!

_Edric stared at the man with wide eyes, “You mean---” _

_ “You must keep him safe, it is imperative that he is safe” the man continued. “There are those that will seek to harm him, and while I am an old and powerful being, I cannot be everywhere in this realm at once. I would ask you, a man pure of soul, to take up the mantle of servitude.” _

_ “And give up begging” Edric gave a small smile as the man laughed. Edric drank deeply from his tea, letting the warm liquid soothe his frayed nerves. “Why me?” _

_A few hours ago he had been freezing to death on the street, praying for help and then this man--THE man had appeared and taken him into his home. Edric looked to the golden man, still unable to believe the turn his life had taken in just a few short hours. _

_ “Even at your most desperate, you never turned to crime or sin” the man replied, leaning back in the plush velvet chair. “You have, on numerous occasions, given your only meal for the day, to another in more need of it than you. You are in possession of a pure heart, Edric of the Storm, and I will keep you in my care, even if you refuse this task.” _

_ Edric thought for several moments before he gave a small nod, “And this man--the High Septon, he is a good man?”_

_ The man nodded, “He is the best of men. Like you he is kind and alone. But I believe you two should suit and when she comes, you can both protect him from those nasty dragons of the world.”_

_ “She?”_

_ “A Guardian, like yourself, but she is charged with the safety of the city,” the man said, pausing to sip his own tea. “I need you to keep the High Septon safe, for her, or we will lose her.” _

_ Edric finished his tea and set the cup aside carefully, his workman’s hands not accustomed to such fine porcelain. “I think that I should like to have a divine purpose in this world. I have long been without anything or anyone.”_

_ “That time has come to an end. They will become your family,” the man said. _

_ Edric couldn’t help but give a small smile, “I should like that” he paused for several moments. “If I may, one last question, Father...” _

“...Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger. I am hers and she is mine. From this day, until the end of my days,” Stannis swore his vows to Sansa as she swore hers to him, his eyes watching her intently as The Stranger wrapped their hands in the silk ribbon.

Once, he has spoken vows of a different sort, vows that had committed him to the Church of The Seven for eternity. Those vows had given him apprehension and a sinking feeling in his stomach. But now, as he promised his life to Sansa, he felt only elation. 

Behind him stood Edric, their living witness to their vows, and the tall, dark form of The Stranger was seeing to their vows personally. It was an honor bestowed only upon guardians, Sansa had explained as they prepared for their wedding. 

Just yesterday he had walked beside The Stranger to Sansa’s home, the dark man helping him to Sansa’s sacred space, and then clapping him on the shoulder with a large hand before vanishing. 

Just yesterday he had fallen to his knees to beg forgiveness from her. He spilled every weight on his heart to her and she, in the end, still accepted him. Accepted his love. 

He, Stannis Baratheon, a forgotten son and cold Septon, had found love and was loved in return. 

Surely this was the most divine purpose in life. 

"With this kiss, I pledge my love," he said the words, his lips speaking them with such reverence that he felt as if he could cry at any moment. 

Sansa--his Sansa, smiled up at him, her eyes bright and he felt his heart as it began to race. He lowered his lips to hers, sealing their bond as husband and wife. It was a soft, chaste kiss but it held more affection than any other gesture in his life so far. 

Sansa’s hands slipped into his as he returned to his full height, breaking their kiss. He held her slender hands in his, his eyes glancing at the golden locket around her neck. The necklace had belonged to his mother, it bore the Baratheon stag sigil on a golden shield and it looked perfectly at home on his bride. 

It was, in some small way, a reminder of his promise of protection, a shield to keep her safe at all times. 

“Alright now” The Stranger patted them both on the shoulder. “Now those of us that can, are going to feast” he smirked at Sansa who only shook her head and led the way into the dining room. 

Stannis noticed as The Stranger passed Edric, the two men exchanged a small nod before Edric followed the larger man from the room. Stannis frowned, wondering what that was all about, Edric didn’t seem as afraid of the dark God as Stannis expected him to me. 

“He’s protected” Sansa said quietly and Stannis turned back to her. 

“Who?”

“Edric” Sansa replied. “He is protected, I can see it on him and The Stranger must as well.” 

“Protected by who?” 

“The Father” Sansa explained. “You can see a sort of golden glow around him, I suspect you will notice it immediately once you’re a Guardian. I would be willing to bet, should you ask, Edric would be able to produce a golden pocket watch with a roaring lion on the front. It's a way to communicate with The Father. I can contact The Stranger at any time I need it though my own watch, though it has a three-headed hound instead of a lion. We simply adjust the time and the Gods know we need them.”

“And Edric…” Stannis was shocked at this revelation. 

“Your Guardian, before I found you” she paused and her lips fell into a scowl. “That means there is something…or someone who seeks to harm you. A person who doesn’t follow The Seven.” 

“To harm me?” Stannis shook his head. “I have lived a boring life, my darling. I have not made enemies.” 

“Sometimes the most dangerous enemies are the ones you don’t see coming” Sansa said sadly and he leaned down to kiss the frown from her lips. 

“We will protect each other” Stannis promised. “But tonight is our wedding feast and I am suddenly feeling sentimental.” 

“Heavens forbid” she teased, squeezing his hand. “Let’s join the others before they eat everything and leave you starving. Though” she went on tiptoe to give him another kiss. “I daresay we could slake your appetite another way.” 

“Temptation in its purest form” he wrapped his arms around her and reclaimed her lips, indulging in a heated, darker kiss now that they were alone in the great room. Sansa sighed, relaxing against him. 

Sansa was his wife now and soon she would also be his lover. While he found the aspect of the marriage bed terrifying, he couldn’t wait for them to learn all that they could about each other, with each other. He would be sharing an eternity with this vibrant woman, a prospect that gave him more happiness than solitude ever could. 

“Thank you” Sansa said softly, taking The Stranger’s hands in hers as she bid him farewell later that evening. “For everything, thank you.” 

“The hard part isn't over, Little Bird” he gave a sad smile. “But it will all be alright. For now, I will leave you to your husband’s care.” 

“Husband and his Guardian” Sansa said and The Stranger chuckled. 

“I should have known that golden bastard would be up to something” The Stranger said. “He always is. I think he’s got a soft spot for you too.” 

“You know how to flatter a girl” she smiled. “What am I to Gods? I am a Guardian, nothing more--”

“Don’t say that, don’t ever say that” he cautioned her and she felt sadness wash over her. This dark God had always been so kind to her, perhaps in another life she might have been happy with him, but--she looked to where Stannis stood, talking quietly with Edric. “Love him, Little Bird,” The Stranger’s deep voice cut into her thoughts. “You deserve nothing less than to be loved the way that he will love you.” 

Sansa felt the weight of the pocket watch that The Stranger pressed into her palm. She closed her fingers around it and the familiar engraving danced beneath her fingers. This watch would not belong to her, but to Stannis, and its importance was not lost on her. 

“Thank you” she said and in the next moment, The Stranger was gone. 

She looked back to Stannis in time to watch Edric tilt his head in a small bow, and turn to journey to the east wing, where he would take up residence. This would give her and Stannis space, but would also allow Edric to stay close by, to make himself a home in the large house. It had too long sat empty, Sansa reasoned. It was time to fill it with life.

“Sansa Baratheon” Stannis said softly as she moved into his embrace and the words brought a smile to her lips. 

“That’s me” she beamed, turning to meet his lips. She would never tire of kissing Stannis, she never could, each kiss was unique and treasured. 

When she pulled back, trying to catch her breath, she looked up into the deep stormy blue eyes of her husband and couldn’t help but smile. 

Without words, she took his hand and they walked together up to the master’s chambers, the large room that had currently held only her, and even then she did not sleep. Often she sat before the fireplace and read to pass the idle hours until she was needed once more. 

The heavy sounds of their footfalls on the wooden stairs echoed in the house, and soon she was closing the bedroom door behind them. Stannis’ necessary trucks were installed in the corner, his dark black and golden cases sitting beside her battered black and silver ones. 

The sight of them together made her smile. After all this time, her life would no longer be solitary.

“You are so beautiful” Stannis said softly in the dim firelight of their shared room. His fingers carefully tucking an errant curl behind her ear. 

She could see the tremble in his fingers that he tried so desperately to hide. He was just as nervous as she was, but her immortal body hid it much better. It embedded him further into her heart, this odd juxtaposition of the tall, imposing man that held such power in the Father of The Seven, and the uncertainty that danced behind his eyes. 

She wished that there was some way to soothe his nerves, some way to soothe her own, but any attempt at those would fall short. What words would properly soothe them on the start of their journey together? 

“I remember, as a little girl” she said quietly. “Watching my father and mother argue over who I would marry. My mother---” she paused and met Stannis’ eyes. “My mother wasn’t a warm woman, she was a noblewoman through and through. Public opinion was her God and society her only standard of judgement. She wanted me to marry the richest man that I could, but my father” she paused and shook away the memories. “My father wanted me to marry someone brave, gentle and strong.

“Sansa…”

“But I knew that none of the men that they paraded in front of me would do” she continued. “I prayed-- I prayed and I prayed for the Gods to send me a man that I could love--that would love me and I was starting to lose hope. But then” she paused, laughing softly. “Then my mother drove a blade through my heart, and my world simultaneously ended and began in the same moment.” 

“My dearest Sansa” he whispered softly. 

“Three hundred years is a small price to pay to have you, Stannis Baratheon” she reached up to cup his cheek. “A small price indeed.” 

“Were it possible,” he replied. “I would have protected you from every slight, every wrong against you, Sansa. I would have done everything that I could--” 

“I know,” she assured him, wrapping her arms around his torso and holding him tightly. “I know, Stannis, but my point--” she paused, shaking her head. “My point is that everything that my father wanted for me, everything that I could have asked for, is here. Now, with me and in my arms, everything is here.” 

“Sansa” he swallowed thickly, his arms banding around her to hold her close, to protect her. “Sansa, I never in my life would have expected to be rewarded with...with you.” 

“And yet, here we both are” she smiled, rising on tiptoe to kiss his chin. “Broken paths riddled with sadness, and here we both are.”

“My wife” he gave a ghost of a smile, his normally grim lips curving into the gentle expression. “My Sansa Baratheon.” 

“My Stannis” she turned to meet his lips for a soft kiss. “If you would give me a moment to slip out of my dress…” she knew that if she were human her cheeks would be bright red. As it was, she watched the heat crawl into her husband’s cheeks as he realized her meaning. 

“Of course” he said with a small nod. 

She went to take a step back, but remembered the pocket watch in her pocket, “Oh” she pulled it free and extended it to Stannis. “This is yours now” she explained. “Should you wish it, tomorrow you will take up the mantle of Guardian and then, if you ever have need of The Stranger, you set the time to the current date, and he will know.” 

Stannis carefully took the watch, his thumb tracing over the carving of Cerberus on the front, the snarling three-headed hound that guarded The Stranger’s realm.

“I wish it” he said softly. “I meant every word when I said I would spend eternity with you” he assured her, leaning forward to kiss her forehead as he tucked the watch into his waistcoat. 

Sansa smiled at his words and turned away, moving to her dressing table where she began to work at the pins in her hair. 

Stannis discarded his black jacket and sat on the edge of the bed, tugging his boots off and set them aside before turning to watch his wife at her vanity table. 

His wife, Gods, it seemed so unreal that he had wed such a beautiful, fiery creature. That she had deigned to wed him. 

Today was the first time he had seen her in a color other than black or red. The soft dove grey of her wedding dress made her porcelain skin and fiery hair glow, the long sleeves and bodice reminding him how slender she was, how curvy she was. 

He felt his cheeks heat as she finished with her hair and sat on the delicate stool to raise her skirts, baring a polished black boot and then long stocking-clad legs. He had never seen a woman’s leg in such a state and he found that he could not look away as she unbuttoned her boots and slipped them off, her hands then moving further up her leg and he felt faint as she bared her thigh and untied her garters. 

He must have made a noise, or perhaps she heard his heart racing, because Sansa looked up to fix him with her impossibly blue gaze as she slid the material down, putting porcelain flesh on display. 

Her head tilted slightly and her lips twitched in a knowing sort of smile as she set the silk aside and turned her attention to her dress. He watched in rapt fascination as fabric and undergarments fell away until his wife stood before him, only the fiery curtain of her hair to cover her nudity. All that she wore was the golden shield locket, the Baratheon sigil twinkling in the light.

“Gods” he muttered as she lay her shift aside and moved towards him. Her bare feet made no sound on the floor, her long legs slender but strong and the curls at the apex of her thighs were just as red as those atop her head. 

“I thought that you would have seen to your own wardrobe, husband,” she smiled. “Let me help you.” 

“Sansa” he swallowed a near-whimper as she parted his waistcoat and her hands smoothed over his lawn shirt. 

“I can hear your heart racing” she whispered. “Hear the blood racing through your body, Stannis.” 

“Even if you could not, I would not seek to hide my desire for you” he said softly, standing to shed his waistcoat and shirt. “I have, from the first, ached for you, for all of you.” 

“And all of me you shall have” she looked up into his eyes, the action sending her hair behind her shoulders and baring her completely to his eyes. 

His eyes raked over the swell of her breasts, the petal pink of her nipples and the way they seemed to call to him. Sansa was an immortal being, perfectly made and perfectly beautiful, and he felt, in her presence, suddenly inadequate. 

He was so lost in his examination of her person, that he did not realize that she had worked the remainder of his clothing away until her fingers danced down his chest, stomach and then down the length of his cock. He hissed in pleasure, his cock desperate for her touch but her fingers danced away before she could take him in hand. Gods, she was going to unman him before it was time, he clenched his jaw to stem his pleasure, knowing that the tip would already be weeping for her. 

“Husband” Sansa said softly, pulling her eyes from his cock to look up at him. “It is a shame that society demands you wear such concealing clothing” she smirked, her hand settling on the muscles of his stomach. “Although, I am quite pleased that only I shall ever see you in all your glory.” 

“And I, you,” he said softly, lifting a hand to cup her jaw. “You are stunning” he leaned down and claimed her lips, groaning against her mouth as she wrapped her arms around him and their bodies pressed together. 

He could feel every inch of her, and though her skin was cooler than his own, it only served to heighten his desire. He crouched a bit and grabbed her thighs, lifting her as he stood, turning to deposit her onto the bed. 

Her curls fanned out across the bed, a stark contrast to the dark sheets below her and she looked like a Goddess. He moved over her, careful not to crush or hurt her, before resuming their kiss. 

Their lips parted and tongues dances as Sansa’s hands wandered his back, her touch sending electricity through him and spurring him on. As if he were meant to be there, his body settled into the cradle of her thighs and she writhed against him, their bodies meeting in delicious friction. 

“Stannis” Sansa panted as his mouth slid to her jaw and neck, his brain no longer calling the shots as lust consumed him. 

In his lifetime he had read thousands of texts, thousands of books and had spent more time studying than he had in sleep. But in all of those writings, they could not and would not tell him the way it felt to have Sansa’s body entwined with his, to feel her flesh against his own. They could not tell him what her lips would taste of or what her flesh would taste like and feel like against his tongue. And he found now that he longed to know those things more than anything. 

He kissed, licked and nibbled every bit of her he could reach; her hands finding their way into his short, greying hair as he laved the peak of one breast before suckling another. The damn had broken on his control and he was a slave to sensation, the need roiling within him unslakable and wild. 

He moved passed her breasts and nuzzled his cheek against the smooth skin of her stomach and hip before kissing just below her belly button. With his new found boldness, he did not pause when he reached her most private area, her legs having fallen apart as he moved over her and he found that he ached to taste her there as well. 

“Stannis!” Sansa cried out, her back arching as he dove in, parting her with long fingers and licking at her soaked core. The taste of her spread across his tongue and he delved deeper, using her whimpers and cries to guide him. He had, of course, never done this before but her body told him all that he needed to know.

When she whined he flicked, when she cried out he suckled and when she panted he licked. Her hands had abandoned his hair and were now twisted in the counterpane, her strength barely in control as she tore at the fabric. He felt her body shake and then seize as she screamed out his name, her taste flooding his mouth as she pulsed against him. 

Reluctantly he pulled back, trailing soft kisses against her inner thighs as she muttered curses in the old tongue, words that would have made him blush had he not just had his face buried in her pussy. 

Wiping his face on the counterpane, he moved back to the cradle of her thighs, his weeping cock desperate to be inside of her. He had waited long enough for her, he did not want to wait a moment longer. 

“Stannis” she sighed as he kissed her lax lips. “Make love to me, Stannis” she pleaded. 

His cock seemed to be a step ahead of him, notching to her opening at her plea and as she wrapped her legs around him, he locked his eyes on her face and pushed into her. Her breathing hitched as he sank through her barrier and when he was finally buried to the hilt in her tight, hot channel, his breath rushed from his body as if he’d been punched in the gut. 

“Fuck” Stannis swore softly, burying his face in her neck as he tried to rein himself in. Her body was clenched around his, both protesting the intrusion but also desperate to be joined with him. Sansa could hardly think, her entire body had started to thrum in pleasure at Stannis’ talented mouth, and now that they were at last one, she felt...complete.

She could feel her husband trembling over her, could feel his pulse echoing through her. She whispered soft words and ran her hands over the lean muscles of his back as he held himself still. 

Stannis was a remarkably handsome man, and when she had done away with his clothes, she could have admired him for hours. Long, lean and whipcord strong, he was a man who exuded power even in his nude state. Yes, he was older and his hair had gone grey, even the hair on his chest was liberally threaded with silver, but a lifetime of good habits had done him a service and he was in damn fine shape. 

She had been nearly hypnotized by the sight of his cock, the long, thick appendage standing proud with its weeping tip. This man was hers, and she couldn’t wait to have him. 

“Sansa” his voice whispered against her ear as he tilted his hips. She felt a dull ache at the loss of her maidenhead, but the delicious feel of his cock scraping against her core was enough to have her sighing in pleasure. 

“Please” she said and as he lifted his head, she turned to kiss him, their mouths and hips moving together in the ancient dance that she had waited so long to learn. She had waited over three hundred years for this man and she never wanted to leave this bed. They rocked and writhed together, her legs wrapped around his hips and her hands in his hair once more. She was being mindful, reining in her strength so she wouldn’t hurt him but her body was nearly beyond her control. 

“Fuck” Stannis pulled back with a hiss, his hips fucking into her in a rough, unsteady pace. His eyes were consumed with desire, dark and pupils blown wide, his jaw clenched as if he were fighting an internal battle and she realized that he was experiencing all of this for the first time too, and he was just as overwhelmed as she was. 

She watched him, held him and gave soft encouragement as her body sizzled with pleasure. When he growled and slid deep, she felt him pulsing inside of her, and she felt like the most powerful woman in the world. He filled her with his hot cum, slamming deep enough to have her squirming and pinning her to the mattress. 

He was beautiful when he came, all signs of tension and scowls gone from his features, and only rapture remained. Moments passed and he collapsed onto her, his weight an odd comfort as he tried to catch his breath. 

She could feel his heart racing, their chests pressed together so tightly that it was almost as if his heart beat within her breast. She could smell the sex in the air and the sweat on his brow. She closed her eyes briefly, committing it all to memory. She wanted to remember their wedding night forever, she would be sure to document it in her journals so she could revisit it time and time again. 

The only pang of pain she felt was the knowledge that she could never bear children. That no miracle of life would spring into being from their coupling, that her body would forever remain barren. 

She would, however, always have Stannis and that was enough to ensure her happiness.

“Stannis” she whispered. “For all eternity...” 

He stiffened slightly but his heart didn’t race in fear, “All eternity.” 

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, kissing his neck softly, “I love you” she said, and with the efficient move of a deadly predator, she sank her teeth into the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

“Show me” the woman prayed, her voice ragged and harsh from the sobs that wracked her body only moments ago. “SHOW ME!” she kneeled before the great fireplace in her chambers, her body trembling and sweat glistening on her brow, but she could not move away. She could not…“Please” she whimpered as she cried. 

She had been waiting before the fire for hours, likely days by now and yet they revealed nothing to her. They had abandoned her, R’hllor had forsaken her--but why? 

Standing, she was uncaring of her nudity as she rifled through the books and scrolls spread across her desk. She threw them to the floor in her desperation, looking for the scroll that had been slipped into her hand in the darkness of a hidden hallway, the scroll that would have the information she needed to rid the world of those who so offend R’hllor. 

Her hand closed around the familiar seal and she pulled the scroll from the basket, her bright eyes raking over the words. She smiled as she turned back to the flames, the heat pulling her in as surely as the dance of the fire. 

“Show me” she lay the scroll on the rug and knelt behind it. Her eyes locked on the flames. “SHOW ME!” she screamed and the veil of shadow seemed to lift from her eyes and she saw him--saw them.

“I see” she whispered, watching the pair. “He has abandoned The Seven…” she swallowed and looked to the address on the scroll. “Perhaps he would...yes…the woman is a problem” she closed her eyes once the vision ended, a fresh wave of tears leaking from her burning eyes. “Yes” she whispered. “I understand now.”


	4. Part 4

Stannis stood on the top of the building, which building he wasn’t quite sure, but it was tall and seemed to reach into the heavens. From here he could see everything, he could smell everything and he could hear the pulse of the city. 

Sansa stood beside him, her eyes closed as she listened as well. He took the opportunity to watch her, his eyes taking in every detail of her being, her beauty far more powerful now that he was more than human. 

Shortly after the consummation of their marriage, Stannis had jolted awake, the world around him nearly overwhelming as he opened his eyes for the first time as a vampire. No, as a Guardian. Sansa had been there, his hands in hers as she walked him through the calming (if unnecessary) task of breathing and with her voice, the world seemed to settle.

The burn of thirst was a dull twinge in his throat and mind, but it was the world that fascinated him most. It was as if he was seeing everything for the first time, every detail and color magnified and even more vibrant. And Sansa, his lovely wife, Gods she was stunning. The molten fire of her hair, the silky porcelain of her skin, both contrasted by the deep black and gold of her dress. 

“You’re staring again” Sansa said without opening her eyes. 

“Am I not allowed to admire my wife?” he smiled at the twitch of her lips. 

“I suppose that is acceptable” she smiled and turned to look at him. “Shall we begin?” 

He gave a nod, “I’m ready.” Sansa took a breath and began. 

“In this world, there are The Seven, The Guardians, the humans and the Mindlings” she explained. “The Guardians are eternal beings of great power. We’re strong, fast and our minds can hold an infinite amount of information. We are here to ensure that the humans are safe.”

Stannis nodded, “Major cities and the like?” 

“Major cities of religious importance” she continued. “There are some humans, like Edric, who are tasked with being the eyes and ears of The Seven on earth. Edric has been taken in by The Father, and when you see him you will notice the golden glow. He’s protected but not immortal. And the Mindlings…”

“The Mindlings?” Stannis prompted as she turned her face to the breeze for several seconds. 

“The Mindlings are small, twisted creatures” she turned back to him. “I suspect their bent and strange appearances are what brought about the idea of 'demons'. They’re souls--lost souls that choose to serve upon their deaths. They are in--well, I suppose the best way to describe it is, they are in a state of decay, frozen until they are rewarded with passage into the heavens.”

“Demons” Stannis frowned. 

“They are the army of The Guardians, in a way. Invisible to the human eye and not bound by the scientific laws of this earth, in times of need they are our best allies” she said. “You will be able to see them now, and I suspect you will know them when you do. They travel by shadow, but not nearly as quietly.” 

“There is so much to learn” he reached for her hand, holding it in his own and entwining their fingers.

“It will come easier as time progresses” she squeezed his hand, rising on her tiptoes to kiss him softly. “We are nearly the top of the food chain, second only to The Seven and we are protected by The Stranger. Well, you’re also protected by The Father and--” before she could continue, her eyes widened and she looked to the North. Following her gaze, Stannis was shocked to hear a muffled scream and then see the flash of flames in the distance. 

“What--”

“Come” Sansa said simply and they dropped off the side of the building. Then---they were running, both of them darting through the darkened alleys and streets to reach the fight. Stannis had never felt as young, or as strong as he did as they ran through the darkness. Though the heart in his chest lay still, he was invigorated and alive.

As they rounded a brick building, he felt the weight of shadows behind him, a hundred chattering voices filling his ears. He looked to his right to see the twisted humanoid forms scampering across the walls and buildings, their limbs overly long and thinner than bone. They sounded like the beating wings of insects, fluttering and clattering as they melted into the darkness. 

_Gods_ he swallowed thickly, Sansa had not been lying when she said that he would know the Mindlings when he saw them. As they moved, their chattering began to make sense to his mind, their voices calling the words ‘fire’ out over and over again, their wake of shadows following him and Sansa to the source of the screaming. 

“Oh no” Sansa muttered as they arrived at a large brick and wooden building, the windows ablaze with flames and people scurrying everywhere. 

Something acidic struck his nose, above the sweet smell of human blood, the salt of their sweat and tears--something sharp and out of place. Stannis’ eyes shot to the sign above the door and his stomach plummeted _Orphanarium - District 3_. Others were running around them, humans calling for the fire brigade and doing all they could with paltry buckets of water. It was hopeless, Stannis felt himself thinking.

“Stannis” Sansa said softly and he followed her through the crowded alley towards the back of the building. “Smell the lamp oil?”

“Is that what that is?” he asked softly, ducking through the crowd. 

“This wasn’t an accident” she shook her head and when they rounded to the back of the building, she glanced around. Ensuring they were alone, she shouldered open the back door and smoke billowed into the alley. “Who would do this to children?” she asked and before he could stop her, she slipped inside. 

Stannis could only follow.

Had they needed oxygen, they would have been forced to immediately retreat, but in their case, they pushed forward. Through the acrid smoke and overwhelmingly hot interior, he followed her black skirts until she drew up short in the large living area. 

Stannis muttered a string of curses, his eyes zeroing in on the flaming heart of R’hllor branded into the hardwood flooring. It has been painted in oil, in accelerant, and left to burn.

“That answers that” Sansa pulled her pocket watch from her pocket and stared at it for several seconds before she worked the dial. Clicking the front shut, she replaced the timepiece in her pocket and looked around. 

“Sansa” Stannis turned to the staircase, the soft whimpers of a child reaching their ears.

“Go” she told him and he lead the way this time, pushing his newly improved body to the limits as he climbed through smoke. Fire met them at the upper landing, but the cries were growing louder and he forced his legs to keep moving, his clothes smoking as he ran down the hall. 

Shouldering open a locked door, he was grateful to see that while the room was full of smoke, there were no flames--not yet at least. At first glance, the bedroom looked empty, save for the rows of bunk beds down each wall and the wash basins in the middle, but he could hear…

“There” Sansa motioned to a bed in the corner where a small girl crouched holding a baby. Sansa brushed past, silent in the chaos around them and she crouched in front of the little girl. “My name is Sansa, what is yours?” 

“Meera” the little girl looked to the baby in her arms. “This is my brother Jojen. The door is locked and the handle hurted my hands.” 

“That’s alright” Sansa smiled warmly and Stannis found himself wondering what Sansa would have been like as a mother. “I want to get you two out of here, if you will trust me with Jojen, my friend Stannis can carry you out. Is that alright?” 

The girl looked to Stannis and then nodded slowly, “Yes.” 

Sansa worked quickly, grabbing a blanket from the bed and tearing it in half. She wrapped the little baby up tightly, making sure that his mouth was loosely covered before she handed the other to Meera, “Cover your face and try not to breathe until we’re outside, alright?” 

Meera nodded, wrapping herself up and then reaching for Stannis. He bent awkwardly, his body unfamiliar with children, but she weighed nothing in his arms. She held tightly to his shoulders, burying her face in the blanket against his neck. 

“Baptism by fire” Sansa whispered as she carried the baby toward the door. The fire was nearly out of control, the building trembling and shifting, the creaks not terribly reassuring as they reached the stairs. 

Sansa stepped through the flames and Stannis followed, descending the stairs as a large beam snapped and gave way, falling in a flash of sparks and fire. Stannis wrapped his arms around Meera and braced for impact, but none came, instead he heard the deep, angry voice of The Stranger. 

"Go!"

Stannis looked up, surprised to see the large God holding the beam above their heads, clearing the passage for them. 

“Go” the gruff God barked and they moved quickly, all but sprinting through the kitchens and out the back door into the cold night. 

Mindlings covered the alley, all of them chattering and sharing information and Stannis found the chorus overwhelming. 

“The floor” Sansa turned to The Stranger. 

“I saw” he frowned, looking to the children. 

“They were locked in a bedroom upstairs” Sansa explained. 

“Locked in?” The Stranger frowned but Stannis was distracted by the Mindlings. 

“White.”

“Dragons.”

“Three.” 

“Angry.” 

“Red.”

The words tumbled about in a flurry of languages that he struggled to understand and he frowned as Meera coughed against his neck. She could barely be older than four or five years old, the baby only a few months and they had been locked in a bedroom to die. 

“Why?” Stannis asked, looking to the Mindlings who all seemed to turn and stare at him at once. Their eerie eyes fixing him in place. In the light of the fire he could make out their grey skin and sunken eyes, some of them still holding a speck of humanity and color, others looking as vacant as ancient mummies. 

“Why? Why? Why?” they repeated, chattering to each other without moving their eyes from him. 

“Why” The Stranger looked at the little girl, at Meera, and frowned, his scars pulling. “The heart of the false fire god on the floor, oil soaking into the boards and carpets, and these two at the heart.” 

“Meera and Jojen” Sansa explained. “Siblings.” 

“Meera and Jojen--Northern names” The Stranger asked and Stannis felt the little girl lift her head from his skin. “I’ll see what I can find out” he glanced around. “Take them back to your house, Little Bird. My gut says that there was a reason they were locked up. I will talk to the others and meet you there.” 

“Of course” Sansa gave a small smile then glanced to the Mindlings as The Stranger vanished. “Clear our path?” The chattering grew louder and as one the Mindlings moved, casting a shadow across the alleys and roads, allowing them to escape the scene with the two terrified children. 

Stannis felt adrenaline coursing through his system--an odd sensation without a beating heart, his mind whirling and trying to make sense of everything that had happened. They’d run into a burning building--even now he could feel the singed material of his slacks as they rubbed against his legs, smell the acrid smoke that clung to their skin. 

Sansa seemed utterly calm, her smile serene as she talked softly to the now-calm baby in her arms. He wondered at what all Sansa had seen in her time; what horrors and atrocities had flashed before her pale blue eyes. What had she seen that made her so calm in the face of raging fire and two children that someone had--most certainly, tried to murder? 

“I’ve a bath going and food ready” Edric greeted them at the door, ushering them inside and out of the cold. Sansa smiled at the young man who gave her a slight nod. “He told me you’d be coming.” 

“I suspect The Stranger will be here soon, too” Sansa informed him as he closed and locked the door behind Stannis. 

“Then I will open a bottle of Dornish red” Edric smirked, leaving them to their charges. 

“There we go” Sansa made a few adjustments on the makeshift dress that she wrapped Meera in, toweling the girls curls a final time to make sure they weren’t too damp. “Nice and warm” Sansa smiled and the little girl nodded, clutching tightly to the little stuffed doll that she had spotted in Sansa’s trunk. It had been Sansa's a very long time ago and looked at home in the girls arms. 

“Are you hungry?” Stannis asked the girl and she nodded emphatically, seeming to be a child of few words, or perhaps just overwhelmed by her surroundings. Sansa’s estate was much nicer than the orphanarium.

Sansa stood and moved to the bed, scooping up the swaddled infant, not missing that Meera’s eyes seemed to track her every movement. The older sister was ready to spring into action and protect her brother if needed, reminding Sansa of her own older brother, Robb, and his protective nature once upon a time.

Meera moved to where Stannis stood and looked up at him expectantly. Her husband, much to his credit, only took a few seconds to realize that the little girl was waiting for him to pick her up, and obeyed without protest. 

Together they made their way below stairs. Looking to her husband who carried held the young girl, only the top of his face visible over her chocolate curls, she couldn’t help but smile. It was a good look for him, she decided, her heart aching that she could never give him children of his own. Still, she hummed softly, they would protect all those children who had no one else to protect them. 

Edric was waiting for them in the dining room, but he wasn’t alone. Sansa had seen these people before, but Stannis had never had a chance to meet them--not in person anyway. 

“Father” Sansa moved to the tall, golden blonde man who stood near the fire. He leaned down and she placed a customary kiss on his cheek, smiling up into his emerald eyes. “It has been too long.”

She had, at one time, been intimidated by the imposing Father of the Gods. But as she grew to know him, she realized that his heart was kind and his mind sharper than any she had known. He was a man filled with love, both for his creations and for The Mother, and because of this he was fierce in protecting them. He looked as strong as ever, clad in his customary red and gold, the lion pin in his cravat snarling back at her. 

“You’re just as beautiful as ever, my dear” he replied, his eyes moving to Stannis’ tall form. "Happiness suits you." 

“Stannis” Sansa turned back to her husband. “Come and meet The Father.” 

“The Father” Stannis repeated, eyes wide as he approached. “It is honor--”

“It is my honor to meet you at last, Stannis Baratheon” The Father said, both men equal in height and lean forms. They shook hands and Stannis bowed his head in reverence. “Edric has taken good care of you, I see.” 

“He has” Stannis agreed, moving closer to talk softly with The Father. 

Sansa turned to the woman seated beside the fire, approaching slowly and kneeling before her, “Mother.” 

“Darling Sansa” The Mother cupped her cheek briefly, then looked to the restless bundle in Sansa’s arms. “Here” she produced a bottle from her reticule, handing it to Sansa. “He’ll be hungry.” 

“Thank you” Sansa took it, feeling the warmth of the Mother’s milk through the glass bottle. “He’s so young” she held him and guided the bottle’s nipple to his lips. He caught on quickly, drinking contentedly.

“Three months or so” The Mother confirmed, then glanced to Stannis’ tall form where he stood with The Father. “Your husband is quite handsome.” 

“I have always thought so” Sansa laughed softly.

“Meera seems quite attached to him already. Children are always able to sense the true character of a person” The Mother noted and Sansa nodded in agreement. She looked back into the kind eyes of The Mother, her golden beauty having always struck Sansa as the most beautiful of women. 

It only made sense, she supposed. 

Stannis moved to the table, setting Meera in a large chair as Edric placed a plate with stew and bread on the table before her. The little girl’s eyes went wide, as if she had never seen so much food in one place before. Stannis spoke softly to her and she picked up the spoon, awkwardly feeding herself. She still clutched the cloth doll in her arm, unwilling to let it go to eat.

“Slowly, it’s not going anywhere, it's all yours” Stannis soothed the girl, who only nodded. “I promise.”

“Who would try to kill them?” Sansa asked, but as The Mother opened her mouth to speak, The Stranger arrived, the tall forms of The Warrior and The Smith at his back.

Like The Mother and The Father, The Warrior was tall and golden, his imposing frame clad in golden armor, the Star of The Seven standing proudly on his chest. He was the golden knight of fairy tales, Sansa reasoned, while The Smith was just as large but he was the darkness to balance The Warrior. Dark hair, sinister armor and with a great warhammer hanging from his back. His eyes were light, but they were cold and she had always felt that he was the most terrifying of The Seven. He seemed vacant, duty bound and resolute in what he must do, always.

“Good man” The Stranger said as Edric wordlessly handed him a glass of wine. Sansa stayed where she was, sitting on the plush rug before the fire with Jojen in her arms eating heartily. 

“Well?” The Father prompted. 

“The Mindlings saw her and are going to find her” The Stranger said. "They believe they can track her." 

“Her?” Sansa frowned. “A woman---”

“A monster” The Stranger corrected. “She set the fire and locked the door, though I haven’t quite figured out why these two were locked in. There were nearly 40 other children in the home at the time.” 

“40” Sansa looked to Stannis, their eyes meeting across the room. 

“All survived” The Mother assured her and Sansa sighed in relief. 

“Why would a devoted follower of R’hllor try to burn children--” Edric frowned.

“R’hllor uses fire to cleanse and fire as an offer of tribute, it could be that the children were chosen as a sacrifice. They all await a being they call 'Azor Ahai', a man to wield a blade and redeem their world,” Stannis explained, tapping on his knowledge of R’hllor from his time as the High Septon.

“Forged in a loving heart” The Stranger’s eyes went to Sansa and they shared a silent conversation. 

“The children must be protected” Sansa stated. 

“They will remain here” The Father said plainly. “Here they will be safest.” 

“Married only a day and already two children” The Mother smiled softly down at Sansa. 

“I will keep them safe, I promise you Mother” Sansa replied. 

“I know you will” The Mother replied. 

“We will find her quickly” The Stranger broke in. “The Mindlings seem quite determined.” 

“Creatures of shadow often hold disdain for the light of fire” Stannis noted absently, helping Meera to cut up a few of the vegetables in the stew so they were more her size. 

“Well said” The Father nodded, glancing quickly to Edric. “Get the children everything they need, clothes, bed, everything.” 

“Consider it done” Edric replied with a bow of his head. He rushed from the room, his legs driven by purpose. He would not let them down, Sansa knew this as surely as she knew the sun would rise. 

“We will return when we have more information” The Father moved to The Mother’s side, offering his hand to help her to her feet. 

“In that bottle you will have all you need to care for the baby” The Mother said to Sansa as she stood. 

“Thank you.” 

The Warrior and The Smith moved behind The Father and The Mother, working as escorts to the golden gods, all vanishing together. 

“I will do all I can, Little Bird” The Stranger told Sansa and she smiled. 

“I know. Thank you for coming tonight” she replied. 

“Next time, try not to wait until the house engulfed, eh? You know how I feel about fire,” he smiled and with a nod to Stannis, vanished. 

Silence filled the room, the crackling of the fireplace seeming to echo as they each sat with a child, seeing to their dinner. 

“I’m full” Meera declared, looking to where Sansa was feeding Jojen. 

“You did well,” Stannis scooped the girl up and crossed the room. He sank into the chair that The Mother had just vacated, settling Meera on his lap. Sansa leaned against his knee as Meera leaned against his chest, all of them drinking in the warmth of the fire. Minutes passed and they both watched as Meera’s eyes slid shut, her tiny body fed and warm at last, clutching to her doll as she slept against Stannis.

“Who would burn an orphanarium” Sansa whispered, setting aside the bottle as Jojen drifted into slumber himself. 

“A monster” Stannis frowned. “The Mindlings, they said a woman, they also said three, red and white.” 

“They did.” 

“And dragons.” 

“Stannis, do you...do you know how did this?” 

“I have long suspected that Most Devout Sister Daenerys Targaryen is more attuned to the fire than she lets on,” he said softly. “She is small with white hair and the Targaryen sigil is a dragon. A red dragon with seemingly three heads.” 

“You cannot think her mad enough--” 

“Edric has long been afraid of her” Stannis cut in. “And I have not trusted her for some time. She is self-serving and often times manic or disjointed” he trailed off, shaking his head briefly. “We will wait on the Mindlings, to see what they say. If they cannot find anything, I will send them to observe her.” 

“Your first day as a Guardian and you’re already a king in command” she smiled up at him. 

“It has been a hectic first day” he admitted. 

“Married a day and already two children” she laughed softly. 

“As I said, it has been a hectic first day.” 

“I love you” Sansa said quietly, both of them ensconced in the master’s chambers. They had shed their smokey, singed clothing, hanging them to let them air out in the glass garden at the back of the house, and now were relaxing in their night robes. While sleep wasn’t necessary for them, it was just past dawn and they had a bit of time to relax. 

Across the hall, both Meera and Jojen were fast asleep, warm and contented in their beds. The children seemed to adapt to their new surroundings rather quickly, neither making a fuss at being away from the orphanarium. 

“I love you” Stannis replied, pulling her into his arms. “Though I must confess I am not keen on watching you run into burning buildings.” The feeling of Sansa’s arms wrapping around him, made him smile. She was his wife, in all ways and today they had run a gauntlet. They had fought together and saved the lives of two lovely children.

Sansa laughed softly, shaking her head, “You ran in with me, what does that say about you?” 

“That I was determined to protect you, even if you were stark raving mad” he kissed her forehead. 

“It is fortunate, then, that I am not mad” she slid her hands to the back of his neck, tilting her lips to meet his. 

While the kiss started gentle and sweet, soon Stannis was holding her tightly and lifting her into his arms. He carried her to the great bed, their lips briefly parting as they stretched across the counterpane. 

The feel of her slender frame pressed to his, the only barrier between them the thin fabric of their robes, was intoxicating. He had spent so long alone, that he was nearly afraid of how attached he had become to Sansa and her presence in his life. His life as a High Septon had been solitary, surrounded by those he couldn’t trust or those he wouldn’t trust, with only Edric to speak with openly. But that life had served him well. Educating him on the Faiths of the world, knowledge that was already coming in handy as a Guardian. 

Solitude, however, was not a part of his life any longer, he smirked as he felt his robe part and his wife’s hands slid around his bare torso. 

With his heightened senses, he could feel every bit of her hands as they trailed across his back, feel the warmth of her core as she parted her legs and he settled between them. He could smell the rose oil she used in her hair, the scent surrounding him as he lowered his lips to hers, kissing her deeply. 

With a few awkward movements, he parted her robe and ran his hand over her nude form, memorizing every dip and every curve with his fingertips. 

“Stannis” she gasped as his fingers trailed over her nipple, barely grazing the peak that called out to him. 

“Beautiful” he nuzzled her jaw, cupping the weight of her breast and using his thumb to strum her jeweled nipple. 

“Please” she pleaded, arching against him and he smiled against the porcelain skin of her jaw. Her hands were busy pushing his robe aside and untying his smallclothes, a hiss escaping his lips as her fingers wrapped around the length of him, stroking in a slow rhythm. 

His hand travelled down her stomach to burrow into her folds, finding her already soaked and ready for him. It fueled his ego, to know that she ached for him as much as he did her. To know that his wife desired him, his partner…

“Stannis” her whispered pleas broke into his thoughts and he quickly shed his robe to settle over her, her legs wrapping around him in an attempt to pull him closer. “Please.” 

“My beautiful bride” he kissed her lips softly. 

“Please” she guided the head of him to her folds, the warmth of her soaking into his skin. Without words she begged for him to fill her, and he indulged her---indulged them both by sliding into her with a firm, unpracticed move. 

Her fingers dug into his shoulders as she arched against him, her sigh filling his ears and bringing a smirk to his lips. All around him he could feel the hot, wet sheath of her body, feel the way she gripped his cock and begged for him. He moved slowly, but deeply. The rhythm and movement unfamiliar but instinctual, their bodies sliding together on gasps and sighs. 

“Stannis” she held to his shoulders as he buried his face into the curve of her neck. “Yes” she gasped, her breathless tone spurring him onward. The hand that was not braced above her fiery hair, went to her thigh, holding it high against his side to slide deep within her. 

“Gods” he muttered, kissing across her neck and throat, back to her lips where she met his kiss with her own. Her hips began to rise to meet his, the friction tight and delicious, and he could tell by her sighs that she was close--or, at least he hoped that she was, as he wasn’t going to last much longer himself. 

“Stannis” her breath caught in her throat and he moved faster, harder, until the large bed frame shook and her breasts bounced with every movement. 

He watched her, doing his best to control his own climax as she cried out, clinging to him as she succumbed to pleasure. He felt her inner muscles fluttering around him, her body gripping his in an attempt to hold him inside. Heat and moisture flooded his cock and he pushed deep, losing control with a feral growl, one that she swallowed with a sinful kiss. His hips slowed as he poured into her, their fluids mixing and coating them both. 

“Mmm” Sansa sighed, running her hands through his short hair. “I love you.” 

“I love you” he kissed her softly. Watching as she basked in her pleasure, in their pleasure. He smoothed a curl from her cheek, tucking it behind her ear before he kissed the tip of her nose. 

Rolling to her side, she snuggled against him and he pulled the blanket over them both. He held her tightly, alternating between watching her and watching the fire in the stone fireplace. Today had been a hectic day, most likely most hectic in his life thus far, but with Sansa at his side, he knew that they would get through this, all of this, together. 

They had to. Little lives depended on them.


	5. Part 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay on this. Please forgive me. 
> 
> <3 you all!
> 
> A warning, mention of slavery/rape in this chapter.

Stannis stood beside the fireplace, watching the flames as the sound of Sansa’s soft singing danced in his ears. He knew that, as darkness once more fell on the world around them, Sansa was singing Jojen to sleep, her soft voice lulling the oddly quiet babe into the world of dreams. 

Meera, however, had taken to following him around. He turned to see the small girl curled up asleep on the couch beside the fire. Edric was seated in the wingback chair beside the couch, both men watching over her as she slept, curled around Sansa’s doll. 

He had never spent much time around children, just as he had never spent time with women, but like Sansa, this little girl arrived in his life and clearly had no intention of going anywhere. She had followed him around the house today, and as he settled into the large desk in the library, she had pushed the chair across from him closer and crawled up to watch. 

This, of course, amused Edric immensely. The younger man had coughed to conceal his laughter, the mirth in his eyes was unmistakable. Meera had flipped through a large tome, her eyes wide as she looked at the paintings of The Seven and the other imagery, and when Stannis realized that she could not read quite yet, he began to teach her. 

Their lessons must have exhausted her, he smiled and returned his eyes to the fireplace. 

Once darkness fell, the Mindlings would return and he could only hope that they brought good news with them. Or, at least...some news.

Footsteps in the hall sounded and both he and Edric turned to see The Stranger appear in the doorway. Edric automatically stood, crossing to the sideboard to pour the dark God a glass of Dornish red. 

“Good man” The Stranger said with a nod, taking the glass and crossing to stand beside Stannis at the fireplace. Edric dismissed himself from the room, leaving the two older men to their privacy. “She looks comfortable” he nodded to Meera. 

Stannis nodded, “She’s had an eventful twenty-four hours.”

“She already considers you her father, you know” The Stranger said quietly and Stannis felt the realization as a physical blow. He’d never thought to have children of his own, and knew that in choosing Sansa and this new life, he had given that up forever. Instead, it seemed he had become a father to two in a single day. 

“Should it be the will of The Seven, I know that Sansa would be in agreement of our caring for the children indefinitely” Stannis said, clearing his throat. 

The Stranger nodded, “If it were up to Sansa, she’d have a hundred children in her care” he noted thoughtfully and Stannis couldn’t help but agree. 

Sansa was a loving, kind woman, and he knew that if she had remained human, she would have had many children of her own. Of course, he frowned to himself. Had she remained human, he would never had a chance to meet her, to make her his own. 

“Sansa is a woman with much love to give” Stannis said with a soft expression, seeing The Stranger nod in agreement from the corner of his vision. 

“She is also a woman of fury” The Stranger said. “And she is not going to be happy with what the Mindlings bring--with what I bring.” 

Stannis turned to face the dark God, their eyes meeting and Stannis couldn’t help but frown deeply, “Most Devout Sister Targaryen?” 

“And her secretive fire cult” The Stranger explained. 

“Then we kill her” Sansa’s quiet voice sounded from the doorway as she moved into the library. She paused to check on Meera, tucking an errant curl behind the girl’s ear before joining them. 

The Stranger nodded, “You will have to fetter out her followers, but the Mindlings will help. In the meantime, I am here to watch over the children while you two hunt.” 

“Hunt” Stannis repeated and Sansa gave a nod. 

“It’s time to learn, husband” Sansa moved to his side, smiling up at him. 

“Better hurry” The Stranger glanced to the large clock along the wall. “Or you’ll miss it.” 

“Miss it?” Stannis asked as Sansa moved away, lifting Meera and carrying her from the room. 

“The night market” The Stranger answered, sinking into a wingback chair before the fire, the one Edric had vacated a short while ago. “Send Edric in when you go, eh?” The Stranger asked as Stannis moved to follow Sansa’s footsteps. Stannis did not pause, but gave a short nod and chased after his wife. 

Sansa had just pulled on a pair of rugged boots when Stannis came through the door. He looked to her shoes with confusion, and she couldn’t help but smile at how adorable he looked. The men's-style boots were not what women usually wear, but she knew that the evening would end in the woods for them, and she wanted to be prepared. 

She had already tucked the children into their beds and knew they would be safe with Edric and The Stranger to look after them. She had, of course, heard their earlier conversation about Most Devout Sister Targaryen and Sansa promised the children in that moment that she would protect them, she would make sure that the Sister could not hurt anyone again. 

That was a sworn oath.

“Pull on that greatcloak” she nodded to the bulk of black fabric atop the bed. 

“What is the night market?” he asked.

“I will explain when we get there” she quickly plaited her hair and pinned it back. “Husband” she stepped before him, standing up on her tiptoes to kiss him. “Trust me.” 

Before she could step back, one of his arms wrapped around her and kept her close, “Always” he kissed her once more and she took the opportunity to run her hands along the muscles of his back. Even through his clothing, she could feel the flex and play of lean muscle, her husband was a powerfully built man. “I love you” he said quietly as they broke their kiss. 

“I love you” she replied, running her hand along his jaw. “Now come, it's time to hunt” she took his hand as he grabbed the greatcoats with the other, both of them hurrying from the house and out into the night. 

Making their way through the streets and alleys, both of them pulled on the bulky, baggy coats, the black fabric concealing their bodies from view. Stannis showed no surprised as she produced a newsboy cap from the pocket of her coat, pulling it low over her face; he simply followed suit, finding a hat in his own coat and pulling it on. 

They wove and wandered for miles, their immortal bodies eating up the distance easily. A few blocks from the house, the Mindlings found them, the chattering shadows following them to the elusive night market. To Sansa their chaotic chorus of voices was a comfort, an extra set of eyes and ears on the horizon. 

When they rounded the last bend and the sounds of the auction reached them, Sansa reached out and took Stannis' hand, briefly squeezing it before letting him go. She knew what he was about to see would be hard for him--would be hard for anyone, really, but she just hoped that he would trust her. Turning back to meet his eyes, she lifted a single finger over her lips, indicating that they should be very quiet and with his nod, she stepped into the fray. 

All around them men of all ages were watching the makeshift stage, the thick smell of lust, alcohol and debauchery hanging in the air as they stared in rapt attention at the girls being paraded in front of them. 

There were only two girls tonight, which made Sansa smile. She had been working hard to ensure that the girls these traders preyed on were safe and out of the city before they could be sold. The night market was once weekly and she was diligent in attending every one. She had promised someone that she would do all she could to save the others. And she took her promises seriously. 

The auctioneer--a new one this week considering last week’s was buried in the woods somewhere south of the city, started his bidding and she felt Stannis stiffen beside her as he realized what was happening. 

She spared him a glance, seeing the horror in his stormy eyes as he watched men--gentlemen, tradesmen, poor men, all gawk and wave money about in the hopes of taking one of these women home. No, not women, girls, Sansa thought. The smaller appeared to be no more than ten and three, her sobs muffled by her hands as she stood on the ‘stage’. The other had also been crying, but now was standing impassively in the chaos around them. 

Sansa watched the crowd with a keen, trained eye. With each bid and cat call she could feel the lust increasing around them. These men were animals, feral at best, and it turned her stomach. 

The older girl, a tall, slender beauty with tawny blonde hair sold first and Sansa studied the man who paid for her, his face his clothing, all of it. Once he was committed to memory, she turned her attention to the auction. 

“Make a note of the buyers” Sansa said softly, quiet enough that human ears would not catch the sound but she knew Stannis would hear her. His fingers grazed across hers where their hands hung at their sides, and she knew he not only understood her instruction, but the purpose of their visit to the night market as well. 

Good. 

They watched from the back of the crowd as the second, younger girl was sold and then they were carted to the side where the transactions would be completed. As luck would have it, the buyers seemed to know each other, and once they had their new property in-hand, they made their way in the same direction. 

Judging by their clothing, they were men of some wealth, though not quite nobility. Tradesmen, perhaps, she decided as they shoved the crying girls into the carriage that awaited them. The men exchanged words with the driver, all of them laughing together as if they had just purchased nothing more sinister than new furniture.

“Perfect” she whispered to herself, turning to Stannis and with a nod of the head they were following. 

As a Guardian, following a carriage was as easy as breathing. They ducked into a dark alley, scaled to the rooftops and followed from above, watching the dark team of horses head towards the docks. 

“Driver first” Sansa whispered to Stannis, her words nearly lost amidst the chatter of Mindlings. Stannis nodded and in the next block, when the buildings were shorter, Sansa lept from the double-story shops onto the top of the carriage. Stannis landed behind her a second later and before she could react, he was on the driver. 

She watched as her husband’s powerful form held the man tight, smothering his cries with a large hand--a hand that helped to guide his head to the side and, in the next instant, Stannis’ teeth were buried in his neck. The soft pop of the man’s artery reached her ears and she gave a small smile, instinct had guided her husband well.

As if hearing her thoughts, Stannis’ eyes raised to meet hers, even as he continued to feed on the driver he watched her, pinning her in place. They watched each other as the driver’s heart slowed and stopped, and only then did Stannis release her from his gaze, turning to take the ribbons from the man’s hands. 

“Get us out of town; south to the woods” Sansa whispered and Stannis piloted the carriage with unpractised hands. 

As they turned away from the tenements, Sansa hopped to the carriage’s footrest and, with a swing of the door, let herself inside. The girls screamed and the two men immediately fumbled for weapons but they were never going to be as quick as a Guardian. Sansa had them by their throats before they could find the pistols in their belts. 

“Evening” she said and the girls behind her quieted, realizing that she was a woman as well. The men, both portly and over-perfumed, glared at her with wide-eyes. “Thought I would drop in for a little chat” she tightened her hold and held them at the point just before their necks would snap. Seconds later, both men were unconscious and she released them so they crumpled against each other. 

She lifted her hat enough to show her face and turned to the girls. Shrugging out of her coat, she covered them both with it, the night dresses that the auction had given them barely covered them and the night was too cold to be exposed. The smaller girl whimpered when they were covered and Sansa’s heart nearly broke.

“Shh” Sansa soothed them. “All is well.” 

“Who are you?” the older girl, the blonde asked. 

“My name is Sansa, what are yours?”

“Serra” the older replied, burrowing into the warmth of the jacket. Sansa was glad to see the girls impassive facade drop, if only a little bit. 

“Arianne” the younger girl said, her voice small and terrified. Her inky black hair hung around her face, tangled and dirty, making her look even more afraid.

“Serra and Arianne” Sansa gave a smile. “My husband, Stannis, is driving and soon you will be safe and warm.” 

“And then what?” Serra asked, eyes guarded. “I have no home--not anymore.” 

“You do now” Sansa replied. “Both of you do. I work with a covert system of assistants, they will help me help you.” 

“They won’t...hurt us?” Arianne asked. 

“Never” Sansa promised. “Now stay warm, we’re almost there” she poked her head out to see Stannis driving easily. “When the roads fork at the south, follow the left and in ten minutes we’ll reach a cabin with a large black and white flag out front. That is our destination.” Stannis nodded and Sansa returned to the carriage, speaking softly with the girls as they moved down the road. 

Stannis did as Sansa instructed and when they reached the cabin, he was only momentarily surprised to see that the black and white flag he was searching for boasted a rather large onion. What a peculiar sigil...

Turning down the drive, he pulled to a stop in front of the large modest home. It was surrounded on the front and sides with large fields and crops, and in the backyard a barn was barely visible beyond the house. It was well appointed but not opulent, so it was likely a working farm that had seen some success in recent years. 

The front door opened and a tall, stout man appeared, an even more stout woman at his back. The man was older, his hair and beard both silver but he had a distinguished bearing, a military man Stannis would guess. A proud one at that. 

He heard the carriage door open before Sansa’s voice reached him, “Davos” Sansa smiled, taking the man’s hands before hugging the woman. “Marya, I’d like you to meet my husband, Stannis. Stannis, Davos and Marya Seaworth.” 

Stannis climbed down from the seat, leaving the dead man behind to shake their hands, “Pleasure to meet you both.” 

“Davos and Marya have seven sons, all of which are now married or in the Navy, so they put their large house to use helping me” Sansa explained as a few more faces appeared in the doorway, all young women with wide eyes. 

“Sansa?” one of the women whispered and then was running from the doorway to hug his wife. Stannis noted that the younger woman was also pale, with strawberry blonde hair that looked at home beside his wife’s fiery hair.

“Roslin” Sansa hugged the woman back, her eyes briefly closing and concealing the emotion there. “You look well. Your eye is all healed?” 

The girl, who could be no more than five and ten, stepped back and nodded emphatically, “Yes, all better!” 

“Perfect” Sansa smiled, cupping the girl's cheek to see for herself. “Perfect and as beautiful as ever” she repeated and the girl beamed. 

Stannis noted movement behind him and saw that the two girls in the carriage were watching from the open door, both of them huddled under Sansa’s coat. 

“Arianne, Serra” Sansa turned to them. “This is Davos and Marya Seaworth, they are good people, I swear it. They can help you find your families or they can help you escape town. They will not hurt you.” 

“Or if you don’t have anywhere to go, you can stay and help us” Roslin chimed in when the two new girls seemed too afraid. “Sansa rescued me a fortnight ago, and I am going to stay and help the Seaworth’s to save others.” 

Stannis watched as the new girls were coaxed from the carriage like lost kittens, both of them slowly moving to Marya and Roslin. He could tell that the slightest shock would send them both running and he ground his teeth, clenching his jaw against the fury of the night market. 

“Your wife, she is a good woman” Davos said softly and Stannis nearly jumped in surprise. He had been so focused on Sansa and the women that he hadn’t heard the man’s approach. 

“She is” Stannis agreed, looking to the older man. “I did not know that she did this.” 

“Every week” Davos replied. “We take the girls and help them get on their feet, or get back home. Some choose to stay and some travel abroad. Sansa visits the ones that stay, checks in on the ones who are hurt by their ‘owners’. She cares deeply and these girls need someone who cares.” 

“I confess” Stannis said. “I was the High Septon in the city for many years, and I never knew of this market of flesh.” 

“High Septon” Davos paused, looking him over before nodded. “Aye, we saw you speak once, in the city. It seems The Seven had a higher plan for you then?” he looked to Sansa who was smoothing the hair of another girl that had emerged from the house. 

“They did, and I am grateful for it” Stannis agreed. 

Sansa hugged the girls, Serra and Arianne, “You will be safe, warm and fed here” she told them. “We are going to see to the men who bought you, but you will never have to fear them again, alright? You are safe. I will see you soon” Sansa told them before crossing to him and Davos. 

Serra and Arianne nodded, “Thank you” they said and Sansa gave a nod. Marya ushered the girls inside, Roslin behind them chattering on happily, a smile on her face. 

“Davos” Sansa untied a bag at her waist and handed it to the older man, the sound of coins jingling reaching Stannis' ears. 

“This is too much” Davos chuckled. “As always.” 

“If you could have your network listen out for any news about R’hllor,” Sansa asked and Davos’ smile fell. “It seems we have a bit of a cult of fanatics on our hands.” 

“Done” Davos agreed. “Shall I deal with the driver or will you?” 

“We will” Sansa replied. “There are two men inside and we will see to them as well. You can have the carriage and horses. We will leave them in the normal spot.”

“I will have Gendry make sure its clean, untraceable, and we will sell it” Davos nodded in agreement. “We can use the horses.” 

“Thank you, as always my friend” Sansa hugged the older man briefly. 

“You are welcome” Davos smiled. “And may I offer congratulations to you both.” 

“Thank you” Sansa smiled, taking Stannis’ hand. 

“Thank you” Stannis added as rustling sounded inside the carriage. 

“That is our cue” Sansa nodded to Davos in farewell before leading Stannis back to the carriage. “Up the road about five minutes is another fork, it doesn’t look useable but we’ll be taking the path to the left, we can park the carriage there and let Gendry come for it later. 

“Gendry is Davos’ son?” Stannis asked as he climbed into the driver’s seat. 

“No” Sansa shook her head. “Gendry is a boy that I stole from the auction many years ago. I suppose he’s a young man now, but he is strong and determined to help. I think should Davos ever wish to retire, Gendry would take his place helping me.” 

Stannis nodded in understanding, “He is a good man, then.” 

“You think I’d let him live if he wasn’t” she smirked up at him before climbing into the carriage and shutting the door. Stannis drove quickly, anxious to deal with the men inside. 

Sansa held Stannis' hand as they walked back towards the city. The men had been dealt with, Stannis and herself feeding in tandem before burying the three bodies in the forest. She supposed that it was more than they deserved, but she would not deny them a final resting place. Men who dealt in flesh, buying little girls and boys for pleasure, did not deserve any more than that. 

“You did well” she said to her husband, squeezing his hand. “You have impeccable instincts.” 

“I cannot take credit for them, I would think,” he replied. 

Sansa paused, “I know that if I had warned you, it might have been better, but it is a hard thing to explain. When I learned of the auction, I was so angry that I promised myself that I would not let this happen. Not in my city. Prostitution is one thing, women who choose their work, but being forced, being raped...” she explained. “I have saved over two hundred so far, with Davos and Marya’s help. Girls, boys, and women and men, all of them either too poor to make it on their own, or stolen from their homes” she shook her head. “There was only one…” she trailed off and she felt Stannis’ warm gaze on her, silently encouraging her. “Her name was Roz and she was but ten and six. Her buyer was violent--unspeakably so, and she died in my arms. I promised her that I would protect everyone that I could. That I would not let these girls down. Not like I did her.” 

“Sansa” Stannis said softly, their footsteps slowing to a stop as he faced her. “My beautiful Sansa” he raised a hand to cup her cheek and she couldn’t help but lean into his touch and the warmth of his hand. “You hold so much weight on those slender shoulders; the weight of an entire city, my love.” 

“I have to protect them,” she said softly. “The women, children...all of them.” 

“And we will, together” he promised. “You are not in this alone anymore.” 

She smiled up at him, “I know.” 

“Good” he smiled, leaning down to kiss her softly. She didn’t care that their clothes were a mess and they likely had spots of blood on their coats, all that mattered was that she was in her husband’s arms. 

“I think” Sansa whispered as Stannis trailed kisses along her neck and jaw. “We should get home quickly--” 

“Home?” Stannis interrupted, kissing her chin. “Why should we wait that long?” 

“Stannis” she gasped as he looked around them and then guided her from the dirt road to the forest’s edge. They were miles from the city, miles from another living being, it was only them and the heart of nature.

“Would it be such a sin to make love to my wife in the woods” he said as he backed her against a large tree. 

“Who are you and what have you done with my High Septon?” she teased, sighing as his body came flush to hers, his arms banding around her waist. 

“He was seduced by a siren, a beautiful woman sent to tempt him from his narrow world and rigid ways” he whispered before kissing her deeply. Sansa sank into his embrace, returning his kiss and parting her lips so that their tongues could meet and tangle.

She was grateful that she had forgone her bustle and bulky petticoats, for it made it that much easier for Stannis to gather her skirts about her thighs as he lifted her into his arms. She wrapped her legs around his waist, letting his strength hold her pinned against the tree. 

She whimpered into his mouth as he trailed a hand to her inner thigh, his touch ghosting across her small clothes and parting them to stroke her most intimate place. For a man who had, until recently, been entirely uneducated in the pleasures of the flesh, Stannis’ fingers were confident and sure, finding her bundle of nerves easily and building her lust. 

Her husband had learned her body and learned it well, her lips tearing from his to whimper and cry out as she raced toward her peak. 

“Stannis” she gasped then glared at him when he pulled back. 

“Not yet” he promised, kissing her lax lips. She pouted while he worked the front of his trousers open to free himself. Sansa watched her husband stroke his length a few times before he stepped close and sank into her waiting channel. 

“Gods” she whimpered, clinging to his shoulders while his hands moved to her thighs and ass, his fingers digging into her flesh. Nothing in the world felt like being joined with her husband, her mate. The way his body completed hers, filled hers and possessed hers was everything. 

“Sansa” Stannis whispered against her jaw, nuzzling his way to her lips. “My Sansa.” 

“Yes” she kissed him. “Always.” 

“Always” he took her mouth in a deep, sinful kiss and began to move his hips. He started slow, moving back only to fill her completely once more. She could feel the rough bark of the tree against her back, protected only by the thick great coat and her dress. The drag of his cock within her, and the previous work of his skilled fingers, soon had her sobbing with unbridled pleasure.

“Stannis” she tore her lips from his and buried her face in his neck, her mouth trailing across the light, barely visible scar that she had left on his neck on their wedding night. Stannis’ answering growl was feral, hardly human at all and as she sucked on the flesh of his neck, his hips sped, his control shattered until he was fucking her in earnest. 

“My beautiful little wife” he growled against her temple, hips pistoning with abandon. She did not reply, only held tighter to him as she crested, losing herself to pleasure and sensation. Sansa’s body contracted around her husband’s and she locked her arms and legs around him, doing all she could to hold him deep within her. 

Stannis swore softly, groaning against her neck as he spilled inside of her, pouring into her in long, heated jets until she felt his strength sag against her. 

“I love you” she whispered. 

“And I you” he pulled back to kiss her softly as she ran her hands through his short black and silver hair. "Shall we return home? The children are waiting."

Sansa smiled, her cheeks aching from the emotion coursing through her, "The children are waiting."


	6. Part 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last, I am so sorry to keep you waiting!!
> 
> With this chapter, I think that some things will become a bit more clear and I ask that you trust me....I know what I am doing*. 
> 
> *I have no idea what I am doing.

When Stannis and Sansa returned to the house, it was to the grim news that Most Devout Sister Daenerys Targaryen was the woman they were looking for. The Mindlings and Edric had been hard at work while the children slept. They used the Mindlings observations to assemble and pull information from census books while The Stranger gathered more details through his own, divine, sources.

It seemed that Daenerys had, in recent years, assembled a small inner circle of followers, all of them dedicated to R’hllor. 

These followers included a woman named Melisandre who believed herself to he a high priestess, a Red Witch who was given gifts of sight from her fire god. Another woman named Missandei, who had long been a friend and suspected love of Daenerys, her role seemed to be working as Daenerys’ eyes and ears outside the walls of the Great Sept.

And then there were two men; the older of these two was named a Jorah, and he was a convicted slave trader from the North who had long since fallen from favor. He had attached himself to Daenerys and followed her every order. And the younger of the men was named Grey Worm, who seemed to be the muscle of their operation. 

If there were others, they had not been located yet and were likely minor or insignificant when it came to the current plot. 

Stannis watched Sansa as she absorbed the information, her nose crinkling in disgust when Edric spoke of the man, Jorah, and his work in the slave trade. Given what he knew now of Sansa’s disgust for those who dealt in flesh, he knew that she would be more than determined to find him and stop him. 

“First things first” The Stranger said gruffly, running a hand over his scarred visage. “We oust her from the Sept. If we push her out of her comfort zone and her realm of control, it should make it easier to catch her.” 

“How?” Sansa asked him. 

“We produce evidence that she is a member of a cult, that she worships R’hllor and that she cannot be trusted” The Stranger explained. “You leave that bit to me, Little Bird. All it will take is a few whispers in the right ears and a few bits of paper.” 

“Alright” Sansa agreed. 

“I will track Jorah’s movements” Edric offered. “I can easily go unnoticed and I know the streets like the back of my hand.”

“Be careful” Stannis cautioned the younger man and he gave a nod. 

“Always.”

“I will work with the Mindlings to find Melisandre” Sansa added, looking over the paperwork that Edric had laid across the table. “If she believes herself a Red Witch, perhaps she will be open to speaking with another Red Witch.” 

“How do you mean?” Stannis asked. 

“I will dress the part, my hair will work and I can easily pull any slight of hand that would convince her that I am ‘gifted’,” Sansa reasoned. 

“Would you be safe?” 

“I am very difficult to kill, darling,” she assured him with a warm smile, briefly going on her toes to kiss his jaw. 

“How difficult?” Stannis countered. 

“Impossible” The Stranger answered, the resolute conviction in his voice letting Stannis know that there was no way in this world that The Stranger would let her die.

“Good” Stannis replied. “I won’t have her harmed” he told the dark God. 

“Nor will I, Baratheon.” 

“Gentlemen” Sansa said sweetly. “I can protect myself, thank you.” 

“Forgive us if we worry, love” Stannis placed a quick kiss on her forehead. “Especially when those were about to go up against have already burned down an orphanage.” 

“That will never happen again” Sansa promised and The Stranger nodded in agreement. 

“And me?” Stannis prompted, looking to his wife. “What would you have me do?”

“You’ll be with him” Sansa nodded behind him and Stannis turned to see the large, broad form of the Smith. The molten God gave a smirk and it tugged at Stannis’ chest, reminding him so much of his older brother, Robert. 

“Aye” The Smith slowly approached, his footsteps heavy and lumbering, a side effect of his large build. “We’re going to hit them where it hurts.” 

“And where is that?” 

“In the believers” The Smith replied with a grin and Stannis frowned. “We’re going to make you a flaming sword.” 

Stannis nearly choked, “What?”

“I think you’ll make a fine 'Azor Ahai',” The Smith chuckled. 

“I am very confused” Stannis admitted with a glance to his wife, who gave an encouraging smile. 

“Don’t worry” The Smith clapped him heavily on the shoulder, shaking his entire frame. “It’ll all make sense in time.” 

Sansa watched her husband from her not-so-hidden vantage point in the doorway. He was sitting in front of the fireplace in the great room, his long form folded into a wingback chair and his arms holding the small girl asleep on his lap. Meera had become quite attached to Stannis very quickly and it made her smile to see her gruff husband catering to the girl’s every whim. 

Soon they would go out into the world, Stannis with The Smith and Sansa alone, dressed in the gaudy garb of a Red Priestess in the hopes of worming her way into the cult’s inner circle. It would be dangerous, but she knew that The Stranger would never let harm come to her, should push come to shove. 

For now, however, she was content to watch Stannis and Meera, as she held the small form of Jojen in her own arms, snuggled to her chest. It was her one true regret, she thought to herself, that she would never be able to give Stannis a child of their own blood. That her body was frozen in this unevolving state and she was unable to bear children. As a little girl, it had been all she ever wanted. To marry a man, brave, gentle and strong, as her father had promised, and to have a family of her own. Growing up surrounded by siblings, she found that she wanted a large family of her own. 

Well, she smiled softly, in a way that wish did come true. Her large family, however, consisted of The Seven and all of their close friends that had become a part of their team. From The Stranger to Davos, they were all as close to her as family--as blood. 

Stannis turned to face her, giving her a small smile as Meera chattered on happily about her doll’s new dress, one Sansa had helped her to make earlier that day. The warmth in his eyes was unmistakable and she smiled back, mouthing the words _I love you_, which he returned in kind. 

“They’re your family, you know” The Stranger said softly, appearing behind her. She turned to him in surprise, eyes wide. “It took a bit of doing, but in my visit to the Sept, I looked through birth records. They’re Reeds, Meera and Jojen. Another proud Northern family and somewhere, many years ago, a Stark married a Reed.”

“They’re…” she looked down at the sleeping babe. 

“At least in some small way, your blood, Little Bird” he assured her and she had to battle back her emotions. Though she didn’t cry, she could still blabber like a baby. “They have no one else, not in this realm at least. Just you.” 

“And me” Stannis said softly across the room, their keen hearing picking it up, even as Meera continued talking. 

“That’s settled then” The Stranger nodded to them both. “Night will be here soon” he motioned to the parcel in his hands. “Your dress, Little Bird.” 

“Thank you” she smiled, kissing Jojen’s head softly. “I will tuck him in.” The Stranger gave a nod in the same moment that Stannis stood, picking up Meera as he did so, the little girl barely pausing in her story. 

Together they tucked the children into their beds, wishing them a goodnight and pleasant dreams. Sansa smiled as Stannis was careful to pull the blankets over Meera, who clutched her doll tightly. High Septon Baratheon, a natural caregiver. She took his hand, squeezing it gently as they went to the hall where the bundled dress waited.

As far as gowns went, it was rather simple and formless, but the rich fabric gleamed in the light and highlighted her porcelain skin. Unpinning her hair, she let the mass fall to her waist before pinning back the front in the style of a Priestess. Sansa looked to the mirror once more, smoothing the vibrant burgundy of her skirts as Stannis appeared behind her. 

“As much as I do not care for this plan” he moved closer, wrapping his arms around her and holding her back to his chest. “You are ravishing in red.” 

“I would have been a beautiful Red Priestess” she teased. 

“Perhaps in another life” he kissed the hollow of her throat, his lips barely ghosting across her porcelain flesh. 

“Perhaps” she agreed, leaning into her husband’s strength. “I think you’ll like The Smith, he’s a rather jovial man when he isn’t bashing someone’s head in with a hammer.” 

“What a horrific image” Stannis scoffed. “I will be nothing but worried about your safety.”

“I will be well” she turned in his embrace, wrapping her arms around his neck and shoulders. “Besides, if she doesn’t believe my ruse, I will eat her.” 

“A simple solution” Stannis agreed, leaning down to rest his forehead against hers. “Be careful, my love.” 

“I will” she promised. “I will send word through the Mindlings, should this plan work. It could be a few days until I see you.”

“I do not know if I shall survive” he said softly. 

“You will, my darling. And when I return, I will more than make it up to you.” 

“Good” Stannis kissed her briefly before he turned away, leaning down to grab the necklace from the bed. Sansa watched him as he unclasped the chain and stepped behind her. Lifting her hair to the side, she felt the cool metal settle into place against her skin and the brush of Stannis’ fingers as he clasped it. “Perfect” he placed a kiss to the nap of her neck, just below the metal. 

“Thank you” she turned to kiss him, a soft, lingering kiss that held promise for later. “I love you.” 

“I love you” he replied, and with that, Sansa turned toward the door, pausing to look back at him before she vanished into the hallway and into the darkness.

“Did you know” The Smith began as he worked over the forge, Stannis across the workshop with a pile of texts and scrolls, doing his best to make sense of the ramblings of R’hllor’s followers. “Stannis, are you listening? This is important.”

“Hmm? Oh, yes” he looked up from the paperwork and faced the God. 

“Did you know that the oldest houses in Westeros are descended from The Seven?”

“What?” Stannis frowned. 

“Created in our image, a tribute of sorts” he continued, turning the steel over where it lay in the flames. “The Lannisters, that’s The Father and Mother, all them golden fuckers” he laughed. “The Warrior, he’s a bit touched you see. Mad as a hatter but there was never a man who could fight like him.”

“And his house?”

“The Targaryens, of course” The Smith replied. “He’s none to pleased with this Dany-git.”

“I would imagine not, no” Stannis agreed. 

“You’ll never see The Crone in the same room as your Sansa” The Smith added. “She looks a bit too much like Sansa’s mother for comfort.” 

“Would explain the madness,” Stannis scoffed, grateful that he had yet to meet The Crone, especially if it would cause Sansa distress. 

“Well fish are never too bright, Tully’s only have so much intelligence to go round” The Smith jested and laughed loudly, shaking his head at his own amusement. “The Maiden is the mother of the Starks. Connected to the earth, beautiful to be sure. Gods is she beautiful, I could tell you stories, but--I digress. Men went to war for her descendants, so it's no surprise. And The Stranger, well, he is the odd man out. No house or affiliation, so all are equal in his eyes.”

“And you?” Stannis prompted, though in his gut he already knew the answer. 

“You already know the answer to that” The Smith smirked and Stannis scoffed. 

“Hence why you’re nearly a double for my brother” Stannis stated plainly and then paused. “Well, in his younger, more fit days.” 

“And I thank you kindly for that amendment” The Smith pulled the gleaming red blade from the fire and plunged it into a barrel of ice. “Like Robert, I have always had a fondness for women.” 

Stannis nearly rolled his eyes, “Of course.” 

“Come to think of it, you and that odd little brother of yours are the only Baratheons who haven’t had a soft spot for women” The Smith mused as he hammered away at the blade. Stannis watched him work for several seconds, wondering what exactly their plan was for this flaming sword. 

He knew from his readings that ‘Azor Ahai’ was the closest thing that the cult of fire had to a messiah and the coming of this being was greatly anticipated. He would venture a guess, given Daenerys’ bloodline and her desire for the flames, that she believed herself to be born of salt and smoke. If she thought herself to be a savior, then she would go to any lengths to prove it as such. 

It would also make it much easier to gather followers, making her all the more dangerous. His mind suddenly clicked into place and he nearly gasped aloud. If there was another, a man with a flaming sword who claimed to be the savior, it would cast doubt--incredible doubt.

“What’s the text say of the hilt again?” 

“From all accounts, it seems the hilt is rather plain--”

“Nah” The Smith smirked. “Let’s put some fucking antlers on it.” 

Sansa made her way down the street, her burgundy cloak flowing behind her as she moved. The city was quiet tonight, but even if it were not, she had the Mindlings to guide her through the streets, leading her to where she could meet the Red Priestess Melisandre ‘by accident’. 

The Mindlings’ chatter increased and Sansa knew they were close. Bracing herself, she began to hum softly as she round the corner and, quite literally, bumped into a slender woman in a deep red dress. 

“Excuse me, I --Oh” the woman’s haughty tone faded and her eyes narrowed as she drank in every detail of Sansa’s person. “And _who_ are you?” 

Sansa gave a deep curtsey, showing her reverence for the High Priestess even if it made her back teeth ache, “Nissa, lately of Volantis” she said softly, rising to her full height to meet the woman’s eyes. The Stranger had imparted to her the importance of using the name, the weight of it falling heavily on her mind. She knew, even if Stannis did not yet, what would have to happen for this to work.

Melisandre Asshai was a beautiful woman, there was no mistaking that. But there was a coldness to her beauty. Pale skin, pale eyes, a shock of red hair and an arrogant tilt of her jaw made her look unapproachable and false.

“A fortunate name. What brings you to the city, Nissa?” Melisandre asked. 

“I am here to help” Sansa replied smoothly. “I have been led here by the Lord of Light to help you and the woman, Daenerys Stormborn.”

“Are you?” Melisandre asked as footsteps sounded behind her. Sansa looked up to see the tall, blonde form in Northern clothing appear from the shadows, his eyes cool and assessing. 

“Another Red Woman?” he asked, his voice deep and accent thick. As he neared, Sansa’s eye went to the bear sigil emblazoned on his sword and knew immediately that this was Jorah Mormont. Behind him in the darkness was the familiar form of Edric, trailing Jorah as promised, invisible to the human eye.

“From Volantis” Melisandre said in High Valyrian. “She says she is here to help.”

“And I am” Sansa added in flawless High Valyrian, and judging by the raise of Melisandre’s brow, she had passed an unspoken test. 

“Bring her. Let her speak with her,” Jorah said simply and they proceeded down the alley, leaving Sansa to follow. She held her skirts as she walked quickly to keep up with the man’s long stride. Around her she could hear the Mindlings talking quickly, letting her know what she would be walking into, with their help she would be able to tackle anything. 

They wove through the alleys and streets until the sound of voices reached her ears and a moment later they ducked into a large stone building, filled with people. 

_Oh Gods_ Sansa nearly gasped aloud at the sight of all the followers. There were so many more than she had anticipated. Fortunately, she kept her face impassive and her reactions hidden as she raked her eyes over the men and women gathered here. 

“Who is this?” the short woman with white-blonde hair styled in intricate braids turned to face her as Melisandre and Jorah led her to the front of the crowd. Behind her was a slender woman, clearly of Naath and a slender man in black leather armor, his head shaved clean. Missandei and Grey Worm then, she deduced. 

“She is called Nissa, lately of Volantis” Melisandre said in High Valyrian. “She happened upon us on the street. She is here to help, or so she claims.”

“So she claims” the shorter woman approached Sansa, looking her over. “You are here to help? Why?” 

“The prophecy has brought me here,” she said, bowing her head in reverence. “It is known that the word ‘Prince’ has no gender in High Valyrian, and the Lord of Light has brought me here, to you, Daenerys Stormborn. To help you.” 

“Then you believe the prophecy refers to me?” Daenerys asked simply, all of her followers watching her with bated breath. 

“I do” Sansa said. 

Seemingly satisfied with her answer, she continued, “Are you gifted?”

“The Lord of Light has honored me with the gift of strength and speed” Sansa explained. 

“Fortunate gifts to possess” Daenerys noted. “And will you put them into my service?”

“I shall endeavor to do all that you ask” Sansa said, meeting the woman’s violet gaze head-on. 

“Good” Daenerys nodded, turning back to the others in the room. “Do you not see my truth? See that I will break your chains and free you from this darkness?” she asked and they all began to cheer, their claps and whistles making Sansa’s undead stomach turn in disgust. 

The last man to speak as such had also been a Targaryen, many years ago when Sansa was new to this life. He had promised to protect and save his people, only to burn them in the end. Ashes, that was all that awaited them at the other end of this dictatorship. 

Ashes and salt.


	7. Part 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter, but I really wanted to get you guys an update! Life has been chaotic and I have been putting a bit of time into another open fic (don't hate me)!
> 
> To all my Stansa loves (who aren't also reading 'Sans Serif'), I hope that you had a lovely Christmas, Hanukkah and New Year Celebration. May 2020 be filled with joy!

Sansa watched as the followers of Daenerys dispersed, returning to their homes and occupations, all of them bowing to her as they passed by. For a woman who was a Devout Sister of The Seven, she seemed very vain and smug as she watched them. She imagined herself a Queen, a God, and while there was nothing to dispute this, for the moment, she had done nothing to earn such reverence. 

Sansa stood beside Melisandre, both women tall, fiery and impassive and she noticed more than one stare of awe and fear passed their way. The appearance of a second Red Priestess would not go unnoticed amongst her followers. In fact, it would lend to the credibility of Daenerys’ claim that she is the savior of her people. 

“Come” Daenerys barked once the last of them were gone and they made their way above stairs, away from the gathering room and to what looked like private quarters. 

Sansa couldn’t help but notice the look of apprehension at the corners of Melisandre’s mouth, and she wondered what secrets the woman’s mind kept hidden. She would have kept watching her, but the bright blue eyes of Jorah Mormont seemed to bore through her stripping her bare once they were away from the crowd. Sansa took comfort in the idea that Edric was nearby, tracking Jorah’s every movement with the Mindlings to guide him through the darkness. 

They stood in awkward silence, as if waiting for something to happen and a few minutes later, a man with dark skin and a shaved head appeared, looking harried and unkempt. Daenerys must have been waiting for him, Sansa reasoned. This must be Grey Worm, given the lean muscle across his chest and shoulders. 

“What news?” Daenerys asked him and he took a few deep breaths. 

“Another carriage of girls has gone missing” he reported and Sansa knew that Davos and Gendry had been busy. They were watching the roadways for any transports of women sold or to be sold, and would intercept any carriage they could to stop those women from being delivered to their ‘masters’.

She noticed the frown on Jorah’s face and it sparked the memory that he had already been caught once in the slave trade. It appeared that his involvement with the slave trade had not come to an end, and perhaps, he was more involved in the Night Market than she had once believed. 

“How?” Daenerys asked, clearly put out by this news. A savior selling her own people, how quaint. 

“I do not know” he admitted and Daenerys shook her head. 

“Fix it. Now” she snapped and he bowed his head in affirmation before turning and running from the room. Smug, bit--

“You” Daenerys turned on Sansa, her violet eyes filled with hatred and...fear? Yes, fear. It was there, dancing behind her facade of ferocity, though Sansa couldn't pinpoint the cause of the fear. Perhaps Daenerys imagined that 'Nissa' was here to bring news of another, legitimate, savior? Perhaps she imagined that 'Nissa' wished her harm. Or maybe she feared the power that a Red Priestess yielded. 

“Your Grace” Sansa curtsied, as was expected. 

“You’ve come to help me, to assist me in taking what is mine with the fires of R'hllor?”

“I have” Sansa replied and she watched as Daenerys walked closer, her eyes never leaving her. To her right she heard Melisandre’s heart as it began to race, could practically taste the fear coming off of the other Priestess and it increased her curiosity as to what Melisandre was hiding. 

“You’re very beautiful” Daenerys stated, looking up at her. At her full height, Sansa could see clear over the woman's white-blonde hair, nearly looking Jorah in the eye.

“I have been blessed by the Lord of Light” Sansa replied. “Beauty is a gift bestowed upon his Priestesses.” 

“Much more so than Melisandre” Daenerys turned to glare at the other woman and the fear in the air nearly choked Sansa. 

“I find High Priestess Melisandre to be quite beautiful, and quite gifted” Sansa said, impulsively trying to diffuse whatever tension was building. For some reason, beyond her understanding, she believed that Melisandre needed to be kept alive. 

“Do you?” Daenerys stepped toward Melisandre. While outwardly impassive, Sansa could tell that the older woman was a mess beneath the surface. 

“I do” Sansa confirmed, looking to Melisandre’s pale blue eyes. 

“She will betray me” Daenerys stated. “I saw it in the flames.” There in the violet of the short woman’s eyes was a madness for which there was no cure. Sansa had seen it once before, in a flash of Tully blue eyes as their owner drove a dagger through her heart.

“I would never” Melisandre assured her. “I have promised my service to Azor Ahai and I have not wavered in this purpose.” 

“And you will not betray me because I am Azor Ahai?” Daenerys countered

“Yes, I serve the Lord of Light and follow his purpose” Melisandre said. 

“This is why I have come” Sansa interjected, feeling Jorah shift closer to her side, as if he were afraid she would leap and attack Daenerys. “With myself at her side, Melisandre will find her purpose renewed, her dedication unyielding. With this, her gifts from the Lord of Light will grow.” 

“For one so young, you are very confident” Daenerys turned back to her, stepping away from Melisandre. 

“I have lived many years, I have observed much and I know that with the Lord of Light at my side and in my heart, I cannot fail” Sansa said and Daenerys’ eyes went over her shoulder as Jorah stepped closer, the cloth of his jacket brushing against her skirts as he moved. 

“It seems Jorah is fascinated with your beauty as well” Daenerys said with a frown as Jorah’s fingers brushing across Sansa’s curls in the barest of touches. 

“Her hair is as living fire, Your Grace” Jorah mused and Sansa did her best to keep her features impassive. We she human, she likely would have vomited on the spot. “I would have you” he said quietly. “I am not a poor man. I could give you anything you desire.”

“My body belongs to R’hllor” Sansa replied, knowing she was walking the razor’s edge. “Allow me to consult the flames, give me time so that I do not break my promise to the Lord of Light” at this she turned to meet Jorah’s eyes, putting on her best expression of innocence and demure devotion. 

“A reasonable request” Daenerys stated. “For now, I am tired and would like to retire. I bid you all good evening and we can pick up our work in the morning.” 

“As you say,” Jorah gave a bow of his head and, with a whirl of his overcoat, strode from the room behind Daenerys. 

Melisandre and Sansa now stood alone in the room for several minutes, neither of them speaking until they were absolutely sure that they were alone. Melisandre moved first, striding to the great stone fireplace and looking into the fire. After a moment, Sansa followed, standing only a short distance from her beside the flames. 

“I know who you are” Melisandre said softly. 

“Oh?”

“You are the one he will come for” Melisandre said. “And he is coming, I have seen him.” 

“He?” Sansa asked. 

“Azor Ahai” Melisandre whispered the words reverently. 

“You mean--”

“We both know that she isn’t the Prince Who Was Promised” Melisandre said. “The Lord of Light sent us to Daenerys because the man will come for her, he will cast her down and it will be glorious.” 

“Why tell me this?” Sansa asked. “You’ve only just met me.” 

“Because she was going to kill me tonight, and you knew that that’s not how I meet my end” Melisandre assured her. “The Lord of Light brought you to me to keep me alive, so that we may help the Prince when he arrives.” 

“I had not expected to find such an ally” Sansa admitted. 

“Nor had I” Melisandre smiled softly. “The Lord works in mysterious ways.” 

“He does.”

“You cannot let Jorah have you” Melisandre informed her abruptly, as if she suddenly remembered to do so. 

“I will not let him, there is no doubt of that” Sansa assured her. 

“Your body must be pure, protected.”

“Why--”

“When he arrives he will want you, and he will have you before he fulfills the prophecy, gives a soul’s power to Lightbringer.”

“Oh. Yes” Sansa felt faint, even though she knew it was not possible. 

Everything in her mind seemed to click into place. The name Nissa, Stannis working with The Smith, her arrival here at Daenerys’ side. If Stannis were to be believed as Azor Ahai, he would have to run his sword through the heart of a woman he loved, a woman named Nissa Nissa in ancient tomes. 

Her heart ached at the idea, not because she would die but because Stannis would never be able to live with himself if he ran a blade through her chest. Mortal wound or otherwise. It was simply not who he was, he was far too kind and loving to ever hurt her. When the time came, she may have to--

“I can see the fear in your eyes, but do not be afraid” Melisandre took her hand. “This honor you’ve been given, it is incredible.”

“I only strive to be worthy” Sansa assured the woman. 

“The Lord of Light has blessed you, and it is my honor to bear witness.”

“Thank you,” Sansa said, though the woman only nodded in reply. Sansa’s mind was racing as she watched the flames, processing all of the bits and pieces of information that she had been given in the past few days. 

The future, it seemed, was about to get chaotic. 

Stannis stood in the large window in the library, watching the sun as it set over the city. The entire horizon seemed to be bathed in an unearthly orange glow and he wasn’t sure if the foreboding was because of the light, or because he had not seen his wife in three days. 

The Mindlings and Edric had both brought news of her, letting him know that she had made it into the inner circle, that Melisandre seemed quite taken with her and rumors of Nissa arriving in the city spread like wildfire. 

_Nissa_ Stannis lifted the sword in his hands, the weight substantial and perfectly balanced. 

The Smith had worked on it for nearly two days straight, and had presented it to Stannis just that morning. It was a work of art, crafted with a masterful hand and more sinister than he could have imagined. 

It was, for lack of a better term, the sword of a Baratheon warrior, one that he had never quite been. Sure, he was strong and smart, his mind sharp and determination aplenty, but he had taken up the life of a Septon, devoted himself to The Seven. He never imagined that in this service, he would be called upon to play the part of a fire religion’s savior. 

The blade was long sleek and sinister, with a ferrule along the center, and the hilt was made in a Stag’s skull, the antlers branching out and acting as a guard in a polished bright gold. Were he a king from the Age of Dragons, he would have proudly worn this at his side as he rode into each and every battle. 

As it were, the reality of the situation threatened to make him sick to his stomach. 

It had taken him time to catch on, that much was true. But as he reviewed the legends and prophecies regarding Azor Ahai, the realization dawned on him that it, in order to prove his claim, he would have to run this very blade through Sansa’s heart. 

And, unbeating or not, that was unacceptable.

“Stannis” The Strangers gruff voice pulled his attention back to the present and he turned to face the dark God. “He tells me that the blade is done.” 

“It is” Stannis agreed, clenching and unclenching his jaw. “Did she know?”

“What?” 

“Did she know that this was coming?” he lifted the blade before the God. 

“By now, I am sure that she will have figured it out.” 

“So we blindly followed and you led her into a trap where I will have to run a blade through her heart?” Stannis demanded, his anger threatening to bubble over. 

“Sansa has always known the score” The Stranger countered. “She knows that we must protect the people of---” 

“She is not yours to toy with as you see fit!” Stannis glared, placing the tip of the sword’s scabbard against The Stranger’s chest. “You promised you would protect her, and yet you placed her directly in harm’s way!” 

“Stannis--”

“What happens when this blade pierces her heart?” he lifted the sword.

“Nothing!” The Stranger growled. “Nothing happens because I could not save that heart from failing to beat in the first place! Stab her, shoot her, it will not hurt her because I let her die!” he returned Stannis’ glare ten-fold. “So go ahead, spew your anger, but do not blame me for any harm coming to her!”

“If she is hurt” Stannis stepped closer, his voice dropping to a deadly tone. “Not a single of your followers will survive. The Stranger will vanish and The Seven will become The Six. I promise you this.” 

The Stranger watched him for several seconds, his dark eyes stormy and unreadable until he chuckled, shaking his head, “You’re a good man, Baratheon. Perhaps you’re worthy of her!”

“Fuck you” Stannis spat, stepping back from the God and turning away. He paced to the window, sword in one hand and the bridge of his nose in the other as he tried to control his temper. A year ago if he was told that he would tell The Stranger, one of The Seven, 'fuck you', he never would have believed it. 

“None of us want Sansa hurt” The Stranger spoke, his tone deadly serious. “But the fire bug has to be dealt with.” 

“Then smite her, isn’t that what you Gods are good for?” Stannis countered. 

“It isn’t as simple as that when she is claiming to be a fire God’s savior.” 

“You refuse to make her a martyr” Stannis reasoned, turning back to the God. “Should have tried never allow her to exist in the first place!”

“It is more complicated than that” The Stranger said. 

“It isn’t though” Stannis shook his head. “What occurs on this earthly plane is, for no better term, at the will of the Gods! You have allowed this and you must reap what you’ve sown. Sansa, however, is caught in the crossfire.”

“She is a Guardian---”

“Because her mother murdered her and you’re in love with her” Stannis hissed. “But so am I, and she is in love with me! Not to mention, she is _my wife_, and I will do anything to keep her safe.” 

“Then do it” The Stranger reasoned. “Keep her safe, keep this city safe and do your buggering duty!”

“My duty is all that I have ever done” he shook his head. “This...this is madness.” 

“Aye, it is” The Stranger agreed. “But a necessary madness all the same.”

“So say the Gods” Stannis retorted. “When do we leave?” 

“Tomorrow night” The Stranger replied. “By the morning, Daenerys will have been excommunicated from the Church of The Seven and all will fall into place from here.” 

“Right” Stannis took a deep, if unnecessary, breath and looked around the room. The children were asleep at the moment, thankfully, and would be well protected by The Mother while they were away tomorrow, which was a huge load off his mind. Now his thoughts were weighed down by the task at hand. 

“Well, put it on” The Stranger nodded to the sword and Stannis wrapped the belt around his waist, the sword hanging heavy at his side. “Good” The Stranger looked him over and Stannis knew what the dark God saw. A tall, lean and angular man clad in all black, his clothing a mixture of black cloth and black leather, a match to the Baratheon blade at his side, with silver hair and dark eyes. 

Stannis had never been a truly handsome man, but he hoped that tomorrow night his visage was enough to convince Daenerys’ followers that he was a savior.


	8. Part 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey *nervous* It's been a while.....hehe...
> 
> Sorry for the delay! Truly! 'Sans Serif' sort of took on a life of its own and I just, yeah... sorry.
> 
> Obviously I am taking canon liberties, as usual, just bear with me.

It was just after dawn when Daenerys’ residence exploded into fits of rage and violence. Sansa was still in her room, but could hear the small women screaming, cursing and throwing things around. She sounded mad, well beyond any rational human and far beyond the soothing words that Ser Jorah tried to placate her with. 

Sansa know immediately what had happened. 

Most Devout Sister Targaryen was 'Most Devout' no more; she had been excommunicated from the Church of The Seven. The Stranger had kept his word and pushed things into motion. 

The door to Sansa’s room opened and Melisandre slipped inside, looking harried and slightly unkempt. She barred the door behind her and smoothed her hair, taking a few deep breaths to compose herself. 

“She has been excommunicated” Melisandre said after several moments. “I am sure it goes without saying that she is not pleased.”

“I am not sure how she expected to remain in the Faith of The Seven and declare herself Azor Ahai in the same breath” Sansa replied smoothly, standing from her seat beside the fire. She set aside the book she had been reading throughout the night and moved to take Melisandre’s hands. The Priestess was cold, trembling--clearly afraid. “I won’t let her harm you” she promised Melisandre softly and the woman gave a vague nod. 

“She is mad” Melisandre whispered. 

“She is” Sansa agreed. “But he is coming, and this will all end when he arrives.” 

“For one so young, you are very confident” Melisandre searched her eyes and Sansa gave her best reassuring smile. 

“I am older than I look” Sansa promised. 

“Aren’t we all” Melisandre smiled and Sansa led her to the chairs before the fire. 

“She will not expect us for a short while” Sansa reasoned. “Sit a while and warm yourself.” 

“I am loathe to see what sort of vengeance she has begun to plot against the Faith of The Seven” Melisandre sat, relaxing into the chair. A weariness was set about her shoulders and Sansa wondered if the woman hadn’t slept at all last night. 

“She will not be allowed to enact any vengeance” Sansa promised, looking to the flames. If she had to play a part in this cult of fire, she was determined to do it to the best of her ability. 

“What do you see?” Melisandre asked, speaking barely above a whisper.

“A man. Tall and broad of shoulder” the lie came easily enough to Sansa’s lips. She conjured the image of Stannis in her mind and continued, “He has eyes of deep blue and hair of black and grey--he is not young, but he is not old either. A hard jaw and aquiline nose.” 

“You see him” Melisandre said with awe lacing her words. 

“A scar at his shoulder and clothes of deep black” Sansa smiled at the memories of her husband. “He is just and honorable--he will not stop until Daenerys is stopped.” 

“He will come for you first, Nissa” Melisandre said.

Sansa nodded, “He will. And I will welcome him with open arms.” 

“And you will let him fulfill the prophecy?” 

“I will do as he bids” Sansa turned from the fire and looked to the Red Priestess. “Always.” 

A loud crash echoed downstairs, audible even to Melisandre’s human ears and they both turned to face the barred door as if they expected it to be broken down any second. Several moments passed and then there was a knock at Sansa’s door. 

“Your presence has been requested in the Great Hall” Ser Jorah’s voice rumbled beyond the wooden planks. 

“Of course” Sansa replied. “I will be there momentarily.”

“And if you know where the Lady Melisandre is, bring her as well” Ser Jorah added and Sansa looked to her only ally in this fray. 

“We will face her together, a united front” Melisandre said and Sansa nodded in agreement. 

“Yes” she stood smoothed her skirts, waiting as Melisandre did the same. 

“Together” Sansa repeated and they crossed to the barred door side by side. 

The scene that awaited them in the Great Hall was overturned tables, chairs and lamps. The room looked as if a herd of elephants had run through the middle, caring nothing for the destruction in their wake. 

Daenerys was standing beside the fire, clad for the first time in all red. Not the deep red of the Red Priestesses but a bright, vibrant red that spoke of violence and war. Her hair was free of its braids, loose to her waist and tangled around her forehead, which was covered in a sheen of sweat. 

“I see nothing” Daenerys said, eyes locked on the flames. 

“Your Grace” Ser Jorah alerted her to their arrival and she turned to glare at them. 

“I see nothing!” she repeated, her tone back at the edge of madness. 

“Because I am here to see for you” Sansa assured her, stepping closer. 

“You presume--” 

“You have been excommunicated from the Faith of The Seven” Sansa interrupted and saw hatred flash in the smaller woman’s eyes. “They’re afraid of you, of your power. They seek to break you--you must not let them!” she insisted. 

“No” Daenerys said weakly, crossing to pour herself a glass of wine, drinking it quickly and steeling her shoulders. “No, I will not.” 

“They fear the growing faith in R’hllor, they fear the flames and the arrival of Azor Ahai” Sansa looked to Melisandre. “We have seen it, the Lord of Light has shown us it's glory. Lightbringer is coming.” 

“You have seen this?” Daenerys looked to Melisandre, who hesitated just a second too long. “You lie?”

“No, Your Grace” Melisandre said and Sansa noticed Ser Jorah take a step closer to the Red Woman. “We saw it this morning in the flames. I was with Nissa in her room and she showed me” she explained smoothly. 

“Prove it” Daenerys nodded to Ser Jorah who grabbed Melisandre violently by the arm and dragged her closer. 

“Stop this” Sansa interjected. 

“Who are you to give orders?” Daenerys challenged.

“I am Nissa, lately of Volantis. I am a Red Priestess, blessed by the Lord of Light” Sansa met the small woman’s glare with her own barely contained fury. “I am gifted, touched by R’hllor and protected. My body belongs to the Lord of Light and I am here to help you, Azor Ahai!” she countered. 

“Prove it” Daenerys looked to Ser Jorah who released Melisandre so abruptly that she nearly crumpled to the carpet, but recovered enough to lean on a wingback chair. Ser Jorah gave the Red Woman no reprieve as he pulled a dagger from his belt and raised it to her throat. 

“You’re fools” Sansa cursed. “The lot of you” she grabbed the fire poker from its resting place beside the fireplace and placed the barbed end into the flaming coals. “Doubt runs rampant in your heart” she turned to glare at Daenerys. “It eats at you every minute of every hour of every day. Weakness and doubt” she glared at Ser Jorah. “You draw blood, and you die.” 

“You threaten my sworn shield?” Daenerys spat. 

“Yes” Sansa pulled her gown from her shoulder baring the pale skin of her collarbone and decolletage. Of course Ser Jorah’s eyes couldn’t leave the newly bared flesh but Daenerys only frowned in confusion. “Weakness. Doubt. There is no place for these in the Lord of Lights world” she stepped back to the poker and pulled the tip, now a bright glowing orange-white, from the flames. “Purge them from your body, or you will find yourself lost from another flock” she handed the cool end to Daenerys and then guided the white-hot tip to her own collarbone, letting the metal meet flesh. 

Melisandre jumped in surprise and Daenerys’ eyes went wide when there was no sizzle of flesh, no flinch or scream of pain from Sansa. Ser Jorah’s heart was racing double-time and Daenerys’ couldn’t take her eyes from the point where the poker met Sansa’s flesh. 

“Purge them” Sansa warned again and stepped back, the fire poker falling to the carpet where it singed the pile, smoke wafting up into the air. On Sansa’s shoulder, however, was no blemish or mark. Her Guardian’s body made her impervious to such wounds, but in this case she would play on their fears of R’hllor, call it His blessing. 

“Impossible” Daenerys tossed the poker to the carpet and moved closer, tugging at Sansa’s dress and inspecting her flesh. 

“My body belongs to the Lord of Light” Sansa said softly. “I gave it to His care. Without doubt. Without _weakness_. And I am safe in His care” she turned back to Ser Jorah. “Let her go.”

After a brief pause, he released Melisandre and tucked his dagger away. Melisandre moved to Sansa’s back, not necessarily hiding behind her, but showing her support by taking her side. 

“Ser Jorah, Melisandre” Daenerys said without taking her eyes from Sansa. “Leave us.” 

“Your Grace--” Ser Jorah protested. 

“Now” Daenerys cut him off and with a slight bow, he retreated from the room. Sansa felt Melisandre retreat in his wake and she hoped that the Red Woman would go to her room to await her return. Only when the door was closed behind them, did Daenerys speak. 

“You’re not afraid of me” Daenerys stated. 

“No.” 

“Why?” 

“I have no reason to fear. Not you or anyone, I am protected by the Lord of Light” Sansa stated in return. 

“Fire does not burn you” Daenerys said stepping closer. 

“No.” 

“Fire does not burn dragons,” Daenerys said, as if she we reciting a line from a children’s book. “What was your surname?” 

“I do not know” Sansa replied, unable to think of a believable lie. 

“You don’t have the look of a Targaryen” Daenerys reasoned. “You cannot be a dragon.”

“No, Your Grace.” 

“And yet you are immune” Daenerys continued. “Part of the prophecy then?” 

“If flame were to hurt me, before the blade could pierce my heart, there would be no point” Sansa admitted softly. 

Daenerys was quiet for several minutes and then eventually nodded, “The Seven seek to break me.” 

“Do not let them.” 

“I won’t” Daenerys replied. “I will burn them to the ground.” 

“Ready?” The Stranger asked from his position at Stannis’ side. 

“Do I have a choice?” Stannis asked, his voice as cold as ice as he stared out the window. It was sundown now and they were preparing to leave. Behind him The Warrior and The Smith were talking quietly, and The Mother was tucking the children into bed above stairs. They would be safe, The Seven promised, no matter what the children would be safe. 

“We’ve been over this” The Stranger replied. “Daenerys was excommunicated this morning. Tonight she will be ready to claim her birthright as Azor Ahai. She will be desperate for a show of power.” 

“I know what needs to be done” Stannis finally turned to face the scarred God. “I just wish that we would have all been open about this from the start. I am not pleased with what must occur.” 

“There is no other way” The Stranger replied as The Smith approached, clapping Stannis on the shoulder. 

“The sword looks damned good on you” he laughed jovially. “I knew the antlers were a nice touch.” 

“Very ‘Baratheon’,” Stannis agreed with a nod. 

Just then, Edric burst into the house, breathing heavily as he ran to meet them, “Sansa---Lady Sansa” he tried to catch his breath. 

“What? What’s happened?” Stannis moved to him, meeting his gaze. 

“She’s been named Daenerys’ chief advisor” Edric explained. “She’s replaced the Lady Melisandre.” 

“That’s our girl” The Stranger chuckled and Stannis turned to glare at him. God or not, this was not the time. 

“She knows, Nissa is important to the prophecy” Edric explained. “I heard talk of a sword being found. It’s coming to the city tonight.” 

“Like I said” The Stranger said, vindication in his tone. “Show of power.” 

“We won’t let that happen” Stannis placed his hand on the hilt of Lightbringer at his side. “There is a sword coming, but it is not meant for Daenerys’ hand.” 

“Exactly” The Smith agreed. 

“You can lead us to her residence?” Stannis asked Edric who nodded emphatically. “The Mindlings can watch her until we arrive. But I am not wasting time when Sansa is in danger.” 

“Agreed” The Warrior said, adjusting his golden armor. “We go now.” 

“Alright” The Stranger looked to Stannis expectantly. “Lead the way.” 

Stannis looked to everyone and gave a nod before grabbing his great coat and hat from the rack, and stepping out into the night’s chill. His legs were determined, stride long and sure as he closed the distance between himself and his wife. It had been too long since he had seen her--held her and kissed her. He would not wait a second longer than he had to. 

They walked for over a quarter-hour, and as they neared the residence, the streets grew more and more crowded until they were socked into a large group of people filing into a large meeting hall. 

There were men and women of all walks, rich and poor, clean and filthy, and a dozen languages echoing in the hall as they entered. All but Edric had to duck to enter the doorway and once inside, they were larger than most in attendance. 

His great height allowed him to see directly to the makeshift stage and to where Sansa stood. Clad in deep burgundy, her hair flowing like fire down her back, she was stunning. She felt his presence, just as he felt hers, and she turned to face him. Their eyes met and held as he crossed to a dim corner along the far side, the others following suit. 

“I’ve missed you” Sansa whispered so softly that human ears wouldn’t register the sound. 

“Not as much as I’ve missed you” Stannis replied crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. They had to look casual, had to blend in until the moment came that they would proclaim their purpose. 

“There’s a lot of people” The Stranger said gruffly, glancing around. 

“No more than we can handle” The Warrior smirked, tossing his golden hair back. 

“If the moment comes” The Stranger stated. “I can halt time.” 

“A useful skill” Stannis scoffed. 

“It is” The Stranger grumbled. “Now pay attention” he motioned to the stage where Daenerys was being escorted to the stage by a tall blonde man--a man who couldn’t take his eyes off of Sansa. Stannis battled the urge to growl, but he knew before the end of this night, that man would be dead regardless. 

“Welcome” Daenerys faced the crowd and they burst into applause and cheers. “I bear you good tidings this night, and thank you for coming to such a momentous occasion” she smiled and Stannis could easily see the madness in her eyes. “I have brought you here tonight to introduce you to someone, Red Priestess Nissa of Volantis who has travelled very far to join us” she motioned to Sansa who gave a slight bow of her head. Beside Sansa stood Melisandre of Asshai, tall and regal but with eyes filled with uncertainty. 

At the announcement of Nissa’s name, muttering began in the crowd, every audience member clearly remembering the prophecy that they were here to support. 

“She had pledged her support” Daenerys said, her eyes moving to a tall, bald man who was moving through the crowd towards the stage. 

“Grey Worm” Edric whispered and they all watched intently as the man bowed before the stage and raised a long, cloth-wrapped bundle. 

“Your Grace” Grey Worm’s heavily accented voice echoed in the room as Daenerys opened the woolen cloth to reveal a blade of gleaming gold, one that seemed to shimmer in the light. The crowd gasped, watching with wide-eyes as she wrapped her hand around the hilt and raised it. 

“Lightbringer” Daenerys announced proudly. “See how it glitters and glows” a hush of awe went across the room. 

“Like you, it is false!” Stannis heard the booming voice of The Stranger sound beside him and the entire assembly turned to face them. 

“You dare to enter here--sacred ground, and spread lies?!” Daenerys glared. 

“Not lies” Stannis seconded The Strangers words, shrugging from his great coat before he moved through the crowd towards her. 

“You!” Daenerys, of course, would recognize him immediately from their former lives in the Sept, but the way her eyes fell to the sword at his waist belied her fear. 

"It's him" he heard Melisandre whisper to Sansa and he wondered just what his wife had told the Red Woman to have her in her thrall.

“Me” Stannis said, standing before the steps with his hand resting on Lightbringer. “It has been a long time, Sister Targaryen.” 

“They said you were dead” Daenerys replied coolly. “High Septon Baratheon.” 

“I was” he glanced to the crowd. “But I did not remain as such. I was given a second life---a new life. One with undeniable purpose.” 

“Am I to understand that you claim to be Azor Ahai?” Daenerys hissed. 

“I do not claim. I am.”

“And that is your Lightbringer then?” she motioned to his waist. 

“It is” he nodded, but made no move to pull it free from its sheath. In war, it was best to let the enemy make the first move--the first mistake. 

“Show me” Daenerys stepped closer, resting the golden blade on his shoulder. It did not touch his neck, but the threat was there all the same. 

“Why?” he raised a brow. 

“If you are truly Azor Ahai” Sansa’s voice chimed and she stepped closer to Daenerys’ back. “You must show us the blessings that the Lord of Light has given you.” 

“Yes” Daenerys’ agreed. “High Priestess Nissa is correct” she challenged. 

“If you insist” Stannis stepped forward, forcing Daenerys’ to step back as he towered over her on the stage. In a smooth movement, he pulled Lightbringer from its sheath, the handcrafted metal surprisingly light in his grip as he raised it. 

As it moved free, however, the blade erupted into flame, the metal all but vanishing into the white-hot fire that consumed it. The crowd went silent and fell to their knees as he held it aloft, and when Sansa stepped forward, raising her hand to touch the flames the crowd began to pray. 

“NO!” Daenerys screeched and Stannis watched in horror as Ser Jorah shoved Melisandre from the back of the stage and stepped behind Sansa, wrapping an arm around her waist to haul her against his chest. Sansa did not struggle as Ser Jorah placed a blade to her throat, she only kept watching Stannis, waiting for his signal. 

“You are false, Daenerys Targaryen,” Stannis stated simply. “Your claim is invalid, you are nothing….not even a Most Devout Sister anymore.” 

“No!! You are the liar!” Daenerys turned to Ser Jorah and Sansa. “Do something!”

Before Stannis could even react, Ser Jorah had plunged his blade into Sansa’s abdomen and she doubled over in ‘pain’. The crowd gasped and Daenerys screamed incoherently. Ser Jorah, however, still could not look away from Sansa--almost shocked at what he had done.

As silence rippled through the assembly, Sansa’s soft laughter began to sound as she stood tall. She grabbed the hilt at her stomach and pulled the blade free. 

“What part of ‘Protected by the Lord of Light’ did you not understand?” she turned on Ser Jorah and ran the blade into his stomach, as he did her. He was mortal, though, his wound was real. He stumbled back, looking at her with wide eyes as he grabbed the bleeding wound in his stomach. Melisandre appeared behind him, watching in horror as he fell to the ground. She looked around several times, then rushed to Sansa and whispered into her ear frantically, words that he couldn't make out over the chaos. 

“Grey Worm!” Daenerys yelled but the advance of the guards were halted by the Gods, the entire audience unaware that The Seven themselves were here to defend the realm. 

“Azor Ahai is here!” Sansa moved away from Melisandre to him, cupping his face. “Stannis, you have to do it---” 

“No” he shook his head as he whispered. “It’s not needed, look at them” he glanced to the crowd and they were all watching them raptly. 

“They need to believe--she needs to believe” Sansa whispered. “Fulfill the prophecy!” she said louder.

“No, they are already lost to her---NO!” Stannis wrapped his arms tightly around Sansa and whirled away curving his body over his wife’s as Daenerys’ blade penetrated his back. He felt no pain, only the sharp advance of the blade as it went through his chest and into Sansa, both of them impaled on the blade. 

Daenerys’ mad, triumphant laughter could be heard echoing behind them as chaos erupted into the hall. Stannis could hear The Stranger shouting and then everything began to turn white. 

“Stannis, close your eyes but keep breathing” Sansa warned, her hands holding onto his neck. He obeyed, holding her just as tightly as the world around them seemed to explode into a million pieces.


	9. Part 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey...*nervous laughter*, long time no see...Don't be mad, it isn't as if I haven't given you any Stansa lately, LOL! ;) 
> 
> Sorry for the delay on this, I have been so caught up in other stories, etc. Here is a short chapter to hopefully get this rolling again. <3

Were his heart still human--still beating, the rush blood would be echoing through his ears. Instead he could hear every sound magnified a hundred times, the shuffle of feet, the heavy breathing and loud footsteps of someone approaching. 

“Someday, Baratheon, you’ll fucking trust me” The Stranger grumbled. Stannis realized that the Dark God was close the moment before the golden blade in his chest was pulled free, sending him and Sansa sagging to the floor. 

“Open” Sansa whispered and he blinked his eyes open to look at her. The air was still--unnaturally still, but when he looked over Sansa, he could see that she was untouched, the wound on her chest rapidly healing just as he suspected his own was. 

“What…?” he looked up and around the great hall, his eyes going wide in shock. His hand went slack and Lightbringer landed on the platform beside him, the flames extinguishing the moment it left his grasp. The entire congregation, every man, woman and child, was frozen in place. 

They were all locked in their grotesque states of panic, the air hanging heavily around them. All except the other Gods and the unmoving form of Daenerys on the stage beside them were prisoners to a frozen time. Stannis turned to see The Warrior and The Smith making their way towards them from the back of the hall. They were weaving their way through the frozen parishioners, treating them as no more than obstacles to be passed.

“Stannis?” Sansa said and he turned back to her. In that single spoken word was a million questions, the concern on her face enough to have his unbeating heart clenching. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “But running a sword through your heart is not something I would ever choose to do.” 

“I know” she smiled softly. “But in a way, you did” he glanced to the barely there scar over her breastbone. 

“It passed through your body and into hers” The Stranger explained. “So the sword--Lightbringer or not, was technically wielded by you. It doesn't fulfill the buggering prophecy but it will get us to where we need to be--though if you’d have trusted me--” 

“I will not apologize for not wanting to run my wife through with a blade” Stannis shifted and got to his feet, leaning down to help Sansa to hers. 

“Nor would I expect you to” The Stranger countered. “But someday you’re going to have to learn to trust me. That’s how this Guardian thing works.” 

“Sansa is, and always will be my first priority” Stannis argued. 

“You’re going to be a pain in my bollocks for all eternity, aren’t you?” The Stranger asked. 

“Most likely” Stannis said without pause. “What do we do with them?” he asked, looking over the frozen crowd.

“What do we do with her?” The Smith countered, nudging Daenerys’ unmoving body with the toe of his boot. 

“She’s going to learn a few lessons the hard way” The Stranger said. 

“And the others?” Stannis looked around. “The followers?” 

“Where is Melisandre?” Sansa interjected suddenly.

“Melisandre is there” The Stranger pointed to the small bit of red fabric showing at the back of the hall, barely visible beyond the stage. She must have landed there after the explosion and he absently wondered if she was alive. “All these others have to see that their messiah was false.”

“Messiah,” Stannis scoffed. 

“It is a delicate balance, they have to know that The Seven have sent a messenger to protect them from false gods, but they cannot know about the Guardians” The Stranger explained. “And those who have been a part of her slave trade, a part of her misdeeds, they need to know that they will suffer the consequences of their misdeeds.” 

“And how do you expect me to do that?” Stannis looked around. “Just _trust_ you?” 

“Bloody pain in the bollocks” The Stranger shook his head, mumbling to himself as he walked towards Melisandre’s body. 

“She knew Stannis was coming” Sansa said quickly, moving to The Stranger’s side beside the Red Woman.

“Aye” The Stranger nodded. “You needed an ally, Little Bird, so I used the buggering flames to show her what truth was coming.” 

“Thank you” Sansa said softly, reaching out to touch the Dark God’s arm briefly before kneeling beside the woman, checking the Red Woman over. “She doesn’t deserve to suffer.” 

“She won’t” The Stranger assured them. “The Crone has expressed an interest in taking Melisandre on as one of her seers.” 

“Oh” Sansa’s face fell and Stannis remembered that The Smith had warned him in regards to the Crone and her uncanny resemblance to Sansa’s Mother. It was clear that Sansa had formed an attachment of sorts to the Red Woman, and was concerned about her well-being. It made him smile, if slightly. His wife had such a loving heart. “She will be safe?” 

“Yes, Little Bird” The Stranger gave an indulgent smile, one that passed his lips only briefly before he turned to The Smith and The Warrior, his expression going impassive once more. It still bothered Stannis, The Stranger’s open affection for Sansa. The Dark God had said once that if he could have, he would have taken Sansa for his own and the mere idea of it raised Stannis’ hackles. 

Stannis knew that his wife loved him, and only him, but it was still disconcerting to see another man’s affection for her. 

“What’s the plan?” Sansa asked, pushing to her feet beside Melisandre. 

“We’ll set the stage, and let Daenerys lay her own trap” The Stranger explained. “That was the plan all along but Baratheon’s noble streak got in the way” he walked across the platform. “Get back as you were,” he instructed and they moved back to where they had been before The Stranger had frozen time. 

Sansa moved into his arms and Stannis couldn’t resist stealing a kiss, “I love you” he whispered. 

“I love you” she replied with a soft smile. 

“If I change the angle of the sword” The Smith chimed in, moving behind him to take the golden blade Daenerys had wielded from The Stranger. “You’ll be able to pull this out yourself” he explained. "Since it isn't the true Lightbringer, it did not harm you, etcetera."

“So you’ll have me show that I am unharmed” Stannis reasoned. "That her sword is false, and then what?" 

“They will all remember the explosion,” The Stranger explained. “So when I let time move forward again, you will need to bait Daenerys into showing her hand.” 

“How so?” 

“Like all heretics, she needs to burn” The Stranger said without pause. 

“You want me to burn her?” Stannis repeated. 

“No” Sansa whispered. “You want us to goad her, challenge her ego. She’ll do it herself to prove to everyone that she is immune to the flames.” 

“Exactly, Little Bird” The Stranger nodded, then looked to Stannis. “Think you can handle that simple task?” 

“Guess you’ll just have to trust me” Stannis retorted. 

“Boys” The Smith chuckled, shaking his head. “We can measure our dicks later, but for now we need to deal with the task at hand."

"Ironic coming from you" The Warrior quipped and The Smith replied only with a crude gesture. 

“Alright” Stannis interrupted, resuming his previous position with Sansa in his arms. 

“Ready?” The Smith asked. 

“Yes” Stannis said and he felt the sword pierce his flesh, coming through the wall of his chest just short of puncturing Sansa’s flesh. It felt odd, like an intrusion or discomfort, but he felt no pain and there was no blood, just...a sword in his chest. 

“Alright” The Stranger said softly. 

“Stannis?” Sansa whispered, looking up into his eyes. 

“Hmm?” 

“When all this is over, we should take the children on vacation” she suggested. “Maybe we can go to the sea.”

“Sounds perfect to me” he placed a lingering kiss on her lips and then the world tilted as it exploded into white light for a second time.


	10. Part 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 Thank you all for bearing with me and my shit attention span! 
> 
> More soon!

Melisandre felt the world return to her in a bright flash, her eyes blinking open to see the audience watching the dais with rapt attention. Rather than crumpling to the stage in a heap, the man--_The Prince Who Was Promised_ still held Nissa in his embrace, the golden sword buried in his back. 

“No!” Daenerys screeched, a near unholy sound that filled the room. 

“I told you” the man all but growled, holding Nissa with one arm while the other lifted to pull the blade from his flesh. “You’re nothing but a shell...false.”

“Oh” Melisandre gasped, the blade bursting into flame as it came free, filling the room with bright light. 

“Your God of Fire is nothing” the man continued, rising to his full height and settling Nissa on her feet before turning away. “He is false. There is power in this universe, but it does not belong to false gods.” 

“No! You are wrong, Stannis!” Daenerys yelled again, her violet eyes filled with fear, uncertainty. “He is the one true God, he is real!” 

“The Seven are real” the man--Stannis countered, running his fingers along the blade, flesh unharmed by the flames. “They are real and they have sent me to stop you.” 

“You? They’ve sent you?” Daenerys laughed, disbelief dripping from her tone. “A man who abandons his Faith?” 

“I never abandoned it, _Most Devout Sister_, I serve it at a higher calling now, more than you could ever imagine” he explained. "They protect me, they guide me, they armed me." 

Melisandre turned as Nissa reached her, helping her to her feet and taking her hand in her own. While Melisandre was very confused by all that was being spoken, Nissa seemed to be rolling with the twists quite easily. It made Melisandre wonder exactly what Nissa had seen in the flames, and what she had chosen not to share. 

“You are well?” Nissa asked softly. 

“I am” Melisandre assured her. “I knew he was coming, the flames…” 

“The Stranger showed you, to keep you safe--to keep us safe” Nissa told her with a soft smile. 

“The Stranger?” Melisandre frowned. 

“The Seven are real” Nissa whispered to her, gently touching her shoulder and smoothing her tangled hair back. “The Stranger came to you in the flames to show you. You hold great power within your soul Melisandre, you can help us.” 

“But the man?” Melisandre looked to the tall, imposing man holding the flaming sword. He was arguing with Daenerys now, towering over her as she spewed vitriol and threats. 

“Stannis” Nissa whispered. 

“Stannis?” 

“My husband” Nissa added and Melisandre looked at the younger woman in surprise. “We’re servants of The Seven. We work with The Stranger to protect the people of this city from any who seek to harm them, including heretics.” 

“R’hllor is not real” Melisandre whispered the revelation as it sank into her mind. Everything seemed to be in chaos. So much that she had come to accept in her life as ‘true’ or ‘known’, was up in the air now, and none of it made sense. 

“No” Nissa assured her, pausing her explanation to look to the man--Stannis. When Stannis returned her look, Melisandre could see the affection burning in his eyes as he looked at Nissa, there was nothing that could hide how he felt about her. There was an entire conversation that occured in that single look and it was clear that their connection was very deep. 

“Your threats grow tiresome” Stannis turned back to Daenerys, his face melting into a frown of anger, his voice colder than the ice of winter. Melisandre almost cowered at the fury in his tone, but Nissa only watched him with quiet pride. 

“I am Azor Ahai!” Daenerys spat in return. 

“Forgive me if I don’t believe the word of a woman who has already forsaken one Faith in her short lifespan” Stannis countered without pause and Melisandre had the great pleasure of watching Daenerys’ physical form seemingly shrink in place as Stannis’ words weighed on her shoulders. The audience, those who hadn’t outright fled in terror, was watching in rapt fascination at the drama unfolding. 

“How dare---” 

“A woman who burns down orphanages to prove she can walk through fire” Stannis continued and Melisandre looked to Daenerys whose face became a mask of horror. “I know your secrets, _Sister_, and I also know that you couldn’t do it, you couldn’t walk through the fire to save those children you so horribly locked away” he continued and Melisandre heard Nissa’s sharp intake of breath. “What happened? Did the fire grow too quickly for your nerves?” 

“Nissa?” Melisandre asked, seeing that the girl’s normally porcelain skin was impossibly pale now. “Are you well?” 

“She did that?” Nissa asked, looking to Stannis and the man looked at her with heartbreak in his eyes, answering without words. “You’re a monster” Nissa spat at Daenerys, stepping away from Melisandre’s side to confront her.

“No--”

“They’re children, innocent children!” Nissa continued. “A toddler and a baby!” she yelled and the audience gasped in surprise, looking back and forth between the women. 

“I was going to save them,” Daenerys weakly protested. “I was--”

“And yet you left them to burn!” Nissa hissed, close enough now to grab Daenerys’ chin, forcing the smaller woman to look up at her. Daenerys’ hissed in pain and Melisandre absently remembered Nissa’s incredible strength…

“Release me” Daenerys protested. 

“No” Nissa glared. “You left them to die, to burn alive--alone and afraid!”

Stannis stepped forward, placing his hand on Sansa’s shoulder in an effort to calm her. He had known that the moment he revealed the secret--the true reason that The Stranger had uncovered regarding the orphanage, that Sansa would be very upset. 

Which was exactly why he hadn’t told her, not until he needed her genuine fury to drive this facade towards its completion. All of this, this entire display would be a lesson in hubris, and he had to make sure that Daenerys followed their lead. 

“You’re going to die slowly, a painful death like the one you sentenced the children to suffer” Sansa threatened on a harsh, broken whisper. “And I am going to watch.” 

“You don’t scare me” Daenerys hissed, a bald face lie. 

“I should” Sansa countered. 

“You’d murder Azor Ahai--” 

“I’d murder a coward” Sansa interrupted. “A woman whose servants and followers peddle in human flesh, taking young women and children from their homes to sell them. A woman who locks children away to burn to death---I’d murder her, as she nothing more than a waste of human flesh!”

Stannis moved closer, this time guiding Sansa backward and away from Daenerys. He could tell that Sansa was dangerously close to losing control--to sinking her teeth into Daenerys’ throat and draining her dry without a second thought. 

“I can prove my claim,” Daenerys suddenly announced as her chin was released from Sansa’s grip. “I am not harmed by fire, R’hllor protects me!”

“You agreed earlier when you wanted to know the gifts of others,” Sansa scoffed. “So show us the blessings that R’hllor has given _you_.” 

“I will walk through the flames unharmed” Daenerys’ voice grew stronger and she looked to those in the audience, her ‘devoted' followers that were not clearly wavering in their attention. “In the courtyard, we can build a pire--” 

_Well, that was easy_ Stannis thought, looking to the back of the room where The Stranger stood, half-hidden in the shadows. He gave Stannis a nod, letting him know that things were moving forward according to plan. 

“Your Grace, you cannot--” Grey Worm protested, glancing at Jorah's still unmoving form on the floor. Sansa wanted to walk across the stage and spit on his corpse, but kept the urge to herself.

“You heard her, Worm. Build a pire” Sansa said instead, glaring at the guard Grey Worm. “Now!” she commanded and the room seemed to explode into a flurry of activity. Guards and parishoners alike flooded from the room, all of them eager for the spectacle that the pire was sure to provide. 

Daenerys moved to Jorah’s side and Grey Worm followed, talking with her in hushed tones and Stannis made sure to keep a half an eye on her, lest she vanish from sight.

“Sansa” Stannis whispered, leaning down to rest his forehead against her temple. 

“You didn’t tell me” Sansa replied in kind and he could hear the sadness in her voice. 

“No, I did not” Stannis couldn’t claim ignorance to what she was talking about. 

“I know why you did it,” Sansa admitted. “But no more secrets, Stannis. No more.” 

“No more” he agreed and she turned to him, raising her lips to steal a kiss, one he was thoroughly grateful for. He had missed her so much, being parted from her was a special kind of torment. Both he and the children had missed her dreadfully. He couldn't wait for this to be over so that he could drag her back to the house and they could escape the world together. 

“What is your name?” Melisandre approached as Sansa pulled back and she looked to the older woman with a smile. 

“My name is Sansa, Sansa of House Baratheon” Sansa smiled. “I am sorry for the deception. It was necessary and unavoidable.” 

“Sansa” Melisandre nodded. “Daenerys is going to die, isn’t she?” 

“Yes” Sansa said softly. “I know that your world must seem very...confusing and broken, right now. But know that you are safe, I will keep you safe and The Seven will protect all of us.” 

“Why me?” Melisandre asked. “I have not been a follower of The Seven before, they know nothing of me--” 

“They know everything” Sansa took the woman’s hands. “All will make sense in time, but know that your gifts, your sight are not going to go away. You will be valuable to one of The Seven.” 

“The Stranger, like you?” 

“The Crone” Sansa replied softly. “Come, stick with me--with us, and we will make it through this.” Heavy boot steps sounded to the left and Stannis looked into the dark eyes of The Stranger. 

Stannis would admit that he was not looking forward to this--not truly. While he wanted to see Daenerys receive justice for the atrocities that she had committed, he was not looking forward to watching her burn to death. She deserved to die, but this...

“It’s time” he told the women, slipping his hand into Sansa’s. “Time to look the truth in the face.”


	11. Part 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I debated on this one for a while, back and forth, yadda yadda, but I am pulling the trigger. Gotta bring this one to its conclusion at some point. But first we deal with the Dany problem...chapter has mentions of violence, nothing beyond canon typical and certainly mild in the bounds of the story so far.

“The Warrior is going to track down those from her command that are trying to flee the city” The Stranger spoke to Stannis and Sansa as they exited the great meeting hall and walked towards where a pyre was being assembled. 

“Alright” Sansa agreed, nodding vaguely as she watched Daenerys’ men arrange the pyre. A sickness settled in her stomach at the sight, all of the wood and torches prepared to create a living nightmare, something that would certainly kill those mortals who were brave enough to attempt to walk through it.

This isn’t what she wanted, none of this was, but her resolve to see this through was strengthened by the reminder that the Most Devout Sister, the monster that she was, had nearly burned two small children to death in a crusade to prove her worth.

She deserved any punishment that the Gods could conjure for her. 

“Davos and Gendry are at the edge of the city, prepared to intercept any that have ties to the Night Market if they try to escape” Stannis continued, it was then that Sansa looked up at him. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing, just...you” she smiled, her first real smile since she had invaded Daenerys’ inner circle. “You’ve taken control, taken charge of everything and it looks very lovely on you.” 

“Does it now?” he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer. 

“Powerful, confident, of course it does.” 

“You might be biased.” 

“Perhaps” she agreed. 

“Any change in myself is a direct result of my love for you” he explained. “Before you I was a cold, devout man who blindly walked a path that I had laid out for myself. I never deviated, I never questioned. But from the moment you walked into my life, you made me a better man.” 

“Even in the darkness before you believed me? When you believed that I had cursed you?” 

"I came through that trial a better man, a smarter one as well.” 

“You would have been a wonderful King, did you know that?” 

“That is a heavy burden for a man to bear” he reasoned. 

“But you would have borne it well,” she replied. “Would that we had met when I was a human--” 

“Sansa” he protested. 

“I would have given you sons” she whispered. “With your strong jaw, perhaps. My temper, most likely…”

“We have two children at home” he kissed her forehead. “So let us be done with this madness so we can return to them.” 

“Alright” she nodded, releasing her hold on him, pausing when his hand slipped into hers, pulling her back. 

“No more dwelling in ‘what ifs’,” he said, his voice soft but booked no argument. “I would not have you any other way but how you are now, you are singularly lovely, Sansa Baratheon.” 

“You might be biased” she smirked up at him, slipping from his hold with a smile that promised more of this discussion later, as she moved to where Melisandre stood looking very pale and afraid. 

“Perhaps” he whispered after her, knowing that his word would reach her ears even as she walked away. 

Stannis watched his wife go, moving to Melisandre’s side to comfort the woman who was not coping well with the change of tonight’s events. It made sense, in an odd sort of way, and Stannis understood that a ‘crisis of faith’ is nothing to be taken lightly. 

He had been there himself only a short time ago. 

Speaking of, his eyes swung to The Stranger as he moved through the crowd, his large form surprisingly undeterred by the crush. The two men shared a small nod, one that let Stannis know that everything was proceeding exactly as planned. 

Those gathered to watch the spectacle were speaking in an odd combination of hushed whispered and bellowed demands, all of them ready to see their leader proven true--or to watch her die in the process. It was a gruesome prospect. 

His attention was called to the pyre when it was announced that everything was in place. Daenerys, a far cry from the woman he had known as a Most Devout Sister, was standing at the side looking decidedly nervous---and decidedly mad. 

“My fellow believers” she lifted her arms to gather their attention, and it worked with ease. “Tonight you are to bear witness to proof that I am the one called Azor Ahai” her words were met with a mixture of cheers and angry words and he felt several look over at him. He was sure to keep his expression blank--imposing, as it may be, and let Daenerys speak her words. 

“Get Sansa and Melisandre and be ready” the deep voice of The Stranger spoke as if it were next to his ear and Stannis shifted closer to his wife as instructed. 

“I will show that I have been blessed with gifts from The Lord of Light” Daenerys continued. She didn’t spare him a glance, but he could feel the scrutiny of the crowd around him. He had promised inside that The Seven had sent him to stop her, surely they were all ready for him to cut her down. “The time has come” she signalled and one of her minions lowered a torch to the wood, setting the blaze. 

For several lingering moments she simply stared, violet eyes wide with madness that sent a chill down Stannis’ spine. He could see the flames reflected in their shine, see the debate inside her mind. She stepped closer and the crowd took a collective breath, this time the skirts of her cloak brushing close enough to the flame for the velvet to singe, the acrid scent burning his supernatural sense.

As if she heard him wrinkle his nose in disgust, Daenerys’ eyes moved to his, dark brows raised in taunting. 

“No words of wisdom?” she challenged him, a stall tactic but one that the crowd seemed to accept readily. 

“The Seven await you, _Most Devout Sister_” he replied simply. 

“The Seven are false Gods---” 

“We’re all waiting” Stannis cut her off, his impatience growing and he waved a single hand to the awaiting fire. 

She swallowed thickly, throat visibly bobbing as her attention returned to the flames. She shifted, lifting a foot to step forward but she froze with it only inches off the ground. Sweat dripped from her temples, the heat of the flames licking against her proximity. She was locked in fear now, the stench of it so thick he could smell it all around him and so could the audience. 

Their jeers and catcalls reached fever pitch, their anxiousness burning hotter than the pyre before them. They were now, he could see, shifting closer, pushing against each other in a near-riot and then it happened….

The sound of Daenerys returning her foot to the cobblestone street could not have been heard by the crowd, not over the din of their protests, but in Stannis’ ears the sound echoed like thunder. 

“I cannot” she whispered, the words were met with immediate outcry and then the tipping point was reached--the point of no return, as her followers rose up and consumed her. 

“Traitor!” 

“Heretic!”

“Liar!”

The insults and cries filled Stannis’ ears and he stepped back, pulling Sansa into the safety of his body as people rushed by them to tear their piece of Daenerys free. 

“Stannis?” Sansa’s voice was small, tinged with fear of her own and he guided her backwards, pushing through the hot, foul-smelling bodies that surrounded them. It was a mess, it was dangerous and just when Stannis believed that things could not get any worse, there they were…

The Seven. 

His eyes swept over the Gods and Goddesses, the crowd parting in awe as they moved forward as one. While Stannis would have anticipated The Father being in the middle, as he was the crowning glory of The Seven, it was The Stranger who led them. At his sides were The Father and The Smith, with The Warrior, The Mother, The Maiden and The Crone at his back. It was not difficult to discern The Crone, the striking resemblance to Sansa was disturbing, though The Crones eyes were completely white, vacant.

“Daenerys” The Stranger growled, a hush settled over the crowd, even those who held Daenerys’ arms had frozen, the valuables they sought to take from her person forgotten as they looked up at the Gods. “Release her” The Stranger ordered and he was instantly obeyed. Daenerys was released so suddenly that she fell to her knees, choking for air and battling against sobs. 

“Prostrate before The Seven” The Father glared haughtily down at her. “As you always should have been before you took to a life of heresy and madness.” 

“P--Please…” the word was broken, weak and Stannis knew that Daenerys was truly finished. 

“You lost your way a long time ago, it's too late to beg for mercy now” The Smith said gruffly. 

“Aye” The Stranger crouched in front of her, forcing her to look into his eyes with a strong hand under her chin. Stannis could see the unbridled anger in the dark God’s eyes, the fury and disappointment at how far she had fallen. 

Having spent his life in the Faith of The Seven, Stannis knew first hand how strict the teachings were and how the Most Devout were instructed to adhere to the laws of the Faith. He knew they required a life of cold duty, piety and, above all, faith, and he knew just had hard it was to resist temptation. 

Unfortunately for Daenerys, her temptation came in being a messiah while his temptation had come in the form of his destiny. A destiny he held in his arms, her face pressed to his chest as she watched with intent eyes. 

Sansa had promised Daenerys that she would be there to watch her die, it seemed she did not intend to break that promise. 

“Please” she repeated, utterly deflated, cowering into herself as she met his eyes. 

“Too late” The Stranger said simply, reaching up to wrap his large hand around her slender throat. “Now you look the truth in the face” he promised her and in the blink of an eye, they were gone. 

All of them. 

Whatever punishment they had in store for Daenerys, there would be no mortal eyes to bear witness, and Stannis was unsure if that was better or worse than being degraded in public. 

The audience gasped at the suddenly empty courtyard, the realization sinking in that they had just witnessed, first hand, the power of the Gods. The True Gods. But worse than that...they had been denied their spectacle and self-righteous revolt. He could feel the tension rising to a boil once more, it would bubble over any minute and he would be the only one left to appease their need for violence. 

“Something tells me we need to go” Sansa mumbled against the wall of his chest, her slender frame suddenly tense as she braced for a fight. “Now.”

“I would be inclined to agree,” Stannis nodded. “Grab her!” he instructed and Sansa’s hand shot out to take Melisandre’s, dragging the Red Woman along with them as they made their hasty--yet wise, retreat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU FOR READING!


	12. Part 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey there........ *nervous laughter, adjusts collar* 
> 
> hi...let's get this Stansa ball rolling shall we!

Sansa held tightly to Melisandre’s hand with her left and Stannis’ hand with her right as they ran into the night. The riot brewing behind them was beginning to reach fever pitch as Daenerys’ followers began to demand blood--or worse. 

Behind Melisandre was a tidal wave of Mindlings, all of them chattering at rapid pace, each one with another warning about the crowd and the oncoming storm. Their warnings served to spur Sansa’s feet, moving faster and faster. Fortunately for them, Stannis and herself, they had the speed and benefit of the supernatural on their side. Melisandre, however, was struggling to keep up. 

“Stannis!” Sansa called out and when he turned his head to glance back at her, she all but tossed Melisandre into his arms. He caught her deftly, cradling her bridal style without a care for her comfort. Whatever hesitation she had at seeing her Husband--her Mate, carrying another woman, was put aside in the effort of survival. They had more important things to handle, petty jealousies could wait. Afterall, it had been several days since she had seen her husband, something she would more than make up for when this madness was settled. 

The Red Woman clung to Stannis’ neck, hiding her face in his shoulder as he carried her through the streets and alleys. Surely by now she had realized that both Stannis and Sansa were not _quite_ human--were not _quite_ normal, but she seemed to be adapting rather well. Well, she had already seen both of them take a sword to the chest and survive, perhaps their speed was nothing shocking. Without the limitations of Melisandre’s human body, their speed increased, carrying them with neck breaking speed towards their house. Once she was safe, they could prepare themselves and return to the riots--to ensure that the innocents were safely out of harm's way. It was going to be a long night, she could feel it in her bones. 

When her home on the outskirts came into view, Sansa felt the tension in her stomach ease slightly. They’d made it---her feet slowed as the front door opened and a face she had never hoped to see again filled the doorway. 

“No,” she nearly stumbled, her mind catching up with her eyes. 

“Sansa?” Stannis halted, turning to face her. His expression held obvious concern as he looked at her over Melisandre's head. 

“I am well” she quickly assured him. “All is well” she repeated, but her Husband still looked skeptical. Surely he knew her well enough to know that her words were a well-placed lie. 

“I am glad to see you are all safe” the woman in the doorway spoke, motioning them inside. “I have tea waiting--” 

“You’re The Crone” Stannis asked, eyeing her warily. He had likely seen her earlier, in the courtyard, immediately spotting the resemblance between the Goddess and Sansa--anyone with eyes could see it. 

“I am” she replied, brushing a lock of auburn hair over her shoulder with a petulant huff. Sansa’s heart clenched at the action, closing her eyes tightly against the tidal wave of memories she wished would remain buried. 

“I see” Stannis replied, looking to her. Sansa only gave him the best smile she could muster. 

“Do not worry” The Crone added, pale white eyes eyes holding something akin to remorse as she looked at Sansa. “I won’t be long. I only came to speak with the Lady Melisandre.”

“Of course” Stannis nodded, carrying the Red Woman inside and leaving Sansa to follow. As she approached the doorstep and The Crone, she was surprised when the woman reached out to stop her with a gentle hand on her forearm. 

“Sansa…” 

“Please” she cut her off, shaking her head. 

“For what it is worth, I am sorry” The Crone said, kindness filling her face. 

“Rationally I know that you aren’t her, that she’s dead--long dead,” Sansa admitted. “Irrationally, however…you look too much like her for comfort.” 

“I know” The Crone nodded. “Would that I could change my appearance but, as powerful as we may be, I am stuck like this.” 

“I know,” Sansa replied. “The Stranger, he explained. I understand.”

“Thank you for bringing her safely to me” The Crone changed the subject, guiding Sansa into the house and barring the door behind her. “She will be a powerful ally to all of us, it is fortunate that she has not been poisoned by the doctrines of R'hllor.” 

“I serve The Seven,” Sansa said in response, steeling her shoulders. “All of The Seven.” 

“Aye, and you’re the fucking best at it” the deep voice of The Stranger sounded from the stairway and Sansa turned to him in surprise. 

“I thought you’d be with--” 

“Oh no” he chuckled, his grey eyes swirling with mirth. “She’s in good hands, don’t you worry, Little Bird.” 

“Alright” she nodded. 

“We’ve got bigger issues,” he continued. 

“The riot?” Sansa ventured and he nodded. 

“Destiny waits for no man” he said darkly. "Or woman." 

“Alright” Sansa nodded, looking at her burgundy dress. “Let me change” she moved to step past The Stranger but he paused her with a hand at her elbow. 

“No dress” he suggested, the warning within his words telling her that what lay ahead this night was not going to be enjoyable. 

“Alright” she said once more, moving up the stairs as if she were an automation, unable to stray from her incoherent thoughts. She looked in on the children, both Meera and Jojen were fast asleep, safe within the world of dreams. Tucking the quilt closer to Meera’s small shoulders, she crossed to the crib where Jojen slept and absently stroked his cheek with the back of her index finger. 

They were so lovely, so innocent and her heart ached with love for them both. But for the flip of a coin they could have been lost to the flames of Daenerys’ madness. Instead they were here, safe and protected, loved and cherished. She had promised it before but in the silence of the uncertain night, she promised them both that they would always know love and never know hunger or pain again. 

“Sansa” Stannis’ whisper pulled her eyes from Jojen and to where her husband stood in the doorway. She moved into his embrace, his arms holding her tightly for several moments as the conversation below reached their ears. 

The Crone was talking with her newest acolyte, soothing the Red Woman whose entire world had been upended tonight. Melisandre seemed to be listening intently to all that The Crone had to say and her heart rate--once wild, had settled into something close to relaxation. 

The Stranger, however, was talking with Edric and both of the men were preparing for war.

“The Mindlings are anxious” Stannis noted, walking at her side to their bedroom. 

“They can feel the unrest, just as we can” Sansa suppressed her sigh. “Daenerys has done her job, riling the mob to fever pitch and now we are left to deal with the fall out. She promised them salvation and instead...” her words trailed off. 

“I know” Stannis stepped behind her as she untied the front of her gown. As mad as the followers of R’hllor were, at least the gowns were comfortable. She shrugged the material from her shoulders and her Husband was there to pull it away, tossing it over the foot of their shared bed. 

“Whatever happens tonight, if we stick together we’ll be alright” she said, pulling the appropriate smallclothes and a pair of buckskin breeches from the cabinet and tugging them on. 

“I know” Stannis gave a small smile, stormy blue eyes watching her closely. 

“We sorted out the hard part” she offered. “Now we just contain the mob.” 

“The hard part” he stepped closer as she pulled a linen shirt and waistcoat from the closet. “Seeing a sword find home within your chest will forever be the worst sight I have ever seen.” 

“It was not the first blade to find home in my breast” she whispered. "This one was substantially less deadly. At the very least, I was back in your arms." 

“I vow it will be the last” he replied without pause, his hand rising to cup her cheek. She gave him a weak smile, knowing that he couldn’t promise that but she appreciated the sentiment nonetheless. “And my arms will always find you, I’ve missed you.” 

“I’ve missed you as well” she replied, playfully tugging on his lapel. “And for the record, I do not like seeing another woman in your arms.” 

“Can you keep a secret?” he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer. Leaning down to her ear he whispered, “She smells of soot and cinder.” 

“Good” she smiled a true smile then. 

“But you” he nuzzled her neck. “You smell like home.” 

“Do I?” she sighed, leaning into his strength. She had missed his touch, his affection and love so much...

“And sin” he continued, his lips brushing the column of her throat. She had been away too long, her body desperately craved that of her Husband’s. “The best sort of sin.” 

“If you’re quite finished” The Stranger cut in from the hallway. Stannis was in front of her, protecting her from The Stranger’s line of sight, which was fortunate since she had not finished redressing. “We’ve got a mob to deal with.” 

“Of course” Sansa cleared her throat. 

“We’ll be down in a moment” Stannis turned to--what she assumed was glare at The Stranger, the large man shuffling away a moment later. Stannis helped her to finish dressing, large hands deftly navigating the buttons of her waistcoat before he placed a soft kiss on her forehead. 

“I love you” she said softly. 

“I love you” he replied, taking her hand. Together they made their way downstairs to where Edric, The Stranger and the others awaited. Reaching the parlor, Sansa held tightly to her husband’s hand, unwilling to be parted from him now that they were reunited and out of immediate danger. 

She noticed The Stranger’s frown immediately, knowing that the way his brows pulled down meant that only bad news awaited them. At his side was The Father and The Warrior, Edric pacing back and forth behind them. 

“What’s happened?” Sansa asked. 

“The mob is on course to reach the night market within the hour” The Father informed them and she felt Stannis tense at her side. 

“I see” Stannis frowned.

“We’ll intercept them,” Sansa stated. “They cannot be permitted to harm any of the women--” 

“I know, Little Bird” The Stranger’s sadness did not abate. "But it must be done." 

“At what cost….?” she whispered. 

“A high one, but one willingly paid” The Father cut in, his eyes darting to Edric for only the smallest second and Sansa’s heart plummeted. 

“No---” 

“Willingly paid” The Stranger interrupted her, cutting off her thoughts. 

“Please…” 

“Trust me, Little Bird” The Stranger pleaded and she could only nod, knowing that her trust in him could never be misplaced. 

“Alright then” Stannis exhaled. “Shall we?” 

“We shall” Edric chimed in then, grabbing a large saber from where it had been leaning against the wall. 

“You’re---” Stannis protested but The Stranger shook his head. 

“Edric goes, and soon Gendry and Davos will reach the city. All the reinforcements you need” The Stranger explained. 

“Alright then” Sansa echoed her Husband’s earlier words, squeezing Stannis’ hand as she spoke. “Shall we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU! Stay safe! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Follow me on tumblr for pic sets and more shenanigans!  
@the-red-wulf or https://the-red-wulf.tumblr.com/


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